


Will You Still Hate Me?

by jessythewriter



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Big Gay Love Story, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Past James Sholto/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Teenlock, Torture, case-fic, john and sherlock hate each other, john is so head over heels for sherlock, serial killings, sherlock being a genius
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 09:46:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 44
Words: 52,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7972336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessythewriter/pseuds/jessythewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mediocre student John Watson fell in love at first sight with the school's genius Sherlock Holmes. When John confesses, Sherlock abruptly rejects him. John's affection turned into hate. However, fate intervenes as John was kicked out of his apartment and eventually moved in to Sherlock's flat as his new flatmate.</p><p>What will flourish out of them in the end?</p><p> <br/>Story loosely based on the Japanese anime Itazura na Kiss (It Started with a Kiss).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back on doing multi-chaptered work again! Now I am attempting to do a complete love story only... although this may change in the future. And I have watched Itazura na Kiss over and over again and I just thought to put the plot in JohnLock's lives (with a twist of both Japanese and British cultures if I try hard enough).
> 
> Anyway, I just wanted to write so I am writing. :)

“John! John!”

“Mhm?”

“Seriously, stop zoning out!”

“Why the fuck do you care Greg?”

“Because…”

*BANG!*

The class heard a loud bang from the teacher’s table, turning all of their attention to where the noise came from.

“Mr. John Watson, would you care to share to us what you’re dreaming about, or solve this mathematical equation on the board?!”

 _Fuck!_ John swore whisperingly.

  * \---



“What the hell happened back there John?” Greg Lestrade said as he bit the last piece of tuna sandwich in his hand, wiping off the remaining dressing in his crumpled gray blazer.

“Sorry… my mind got a little bit pre-occupied.” John said, sighing. This is the third time he got himself humiliated in front of his class since the school year started. He looked down his table, as if the soda he held on his hands was a part of the audience. When he tried to find another view, he was not disappointed by what he saw.

“Pre-occupied with… what… oh…”

Greg figured out what was bothering John when the latter’s head turned to a certain direction, his eyes following someone walking down outside the school grounds. It was as if his best friend’s head became a radar antenna picking up a signal something dangerous.

_Of course, that man is dangerous._

John on the other hand, cannot tear his eyes away from him. His eyes glimmered as the man walked away. He may be wearing the same gray blazer, the white undershirt, the plain white tie, the light brown slacks, and the polished black leather shoes as all of the male students of this school. But him, he always stood out, not only to John’s eyes, but to everyone in the school as well. He had his curly hair wavering as he walked, and his height indicated dominance as well as his stride.  To John, he is everything, and is the reason of his constant daydreaming activity.

“Stop this nonsense John.” Greg said as he popped his own soda drink open, drawing John back to reality.

“What? It’s as if I am hurting him while thinking about him.” John said, realizing that there were a flock of girls talking to the man afar from him.

“Look, I do not have issues about man to man relationships, and the society can now a bit look past that. But the reality is, he’s just out of your league. You’re my friend, and I don’t want you to end up heartbroken, that’s all.”

 _Maybe you’re right._ John wanted to say it aloud, but he can’t. He is still clinging for that hope, for that 1% chance that maybe, just maybe, somehow the man would look back to him, to recognize his existence. But maybe it was also impossible to do so. He’s in the best and brightest Class A, not to mention he is at the top of everything, while John was on the lowly and trashy Class F. In everything he do, he does perfectly, while John is full of flaws and regrets.

He still clung on his soda can, desperately.

It started during their freshmen year. John was at the second to the last row of the audience chairs, because unfortunately, he barely passed the entrance examination of the school. And then there he was, walking up the stage with elegance. He properly adjusted his speech on the platform, and when he started speaking, that’s when John fell in love with him.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen.” He said in a deep, baritone voice, as if John was swimming on the depths of the ocean. “It is of my utmost pleasure to receive the warm welcome this humble institution has given us. As the topnotcher of this batch, I would like to talk in behalf of them that we look forward to all the knowledge we will be able to partake from our teachers. And may all of us have a wonderful learning experience, together, in this school.”

His speech ended with a loud cheers and claps, and even shouts from girls who ultimately had a crush on him. But John never heard anything, except the last breath he heard as the man delivered his words perfectly.

“Thank you!” The principal announced. “And that was Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the student who got the best and highest scores for this year’s qualifying examination!”

And since then, John knew that he is the one.

But maybe he’s unreachable like how John wanted to grab the stars in the sky.

_So near, yet so far._

“I’ve decided Greg.” John replied calmly.

“Good! Better if you just leave yourselves living your own lives. We’re about to graduate anyway.”

“I’ll give my letter to him.”

Greg almost spitted out all of the soda that was in his mouth. “The what now?”

“The love letter. It’s better this way. I won’t have any regrets since we won’t see each other anyway.”

“You know this is bloody ridiculous, right?”

“Call it ridiculous, I call it ‘now-or-never’.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

As the early night drew on John’s window pane, he opened his drawer where a small envelope occupied space. Written on the front is “To: Mr. Sherlock Holmes”. He has this letter in possession for four years, not having enough courage to give it to him. But now’s different, because fuck, it’s the last year that he will be able to see him again, and what a more beautiful time to confess before school ends?

John kept staring on the letter, the envelope on his right hand.

_Tomorrow, this torment ends!_

  * \--



John came early to school, hoping that he would meet Sherlock Holmes before the bell rings for first period, the letter clutched in his small left hand. And he was not mistaken. As the flock of students arrived, a black limousine parked right in front of the school gate. And off came the well-dressed Sherlock Holmes, with a leather bag hanging on his right shoulder.

As he walked past the gate, John finally called the name he’d been dying to call for four years.

“M-Mr. Holmes!”

Apparently, his voice was loud enough because the tall figure stopped from walking.

_He heard me!_

John came rushing towards him.

“C-Can I have a word with you?” He finally said with every quiver of his heart.

Sherlock Holmes never said anything in response. He just looked at him plainly.

John never understood what Sherlock’s reaction meant, like a knowledgeable poker player, his face revealed nothing. Together, they stood under a big mahogany tree.

“M-Mr. Holmes, I am J-John…”

“John Watson, 16, Class F. Yes I know who you are.”

_He finally spoke to me!_

John was mesmerized by his voice, which was directly flowing towards his ears, and those glazed eyes, those eyes that were the only focus was him.

“Please don’t waste my time. School starts in five minutes. You and I both know that very well.”

John jolted. “Y-yes. I want to give you this…”

_Finally! At last!_

John offered the letter in front of the great Sherlock Holmes. He bowed his head in embarrassment, waiting for Sherlock’s hands to brush with his.

“I don’t want it.”

John’s heart wanted to explode in humiliation. He wanted to beg, to plead just for him to look at it.

“Pl-please, this is…”

“A love letter, I am fully aware. When my car approached the school gate you were the only one standing right next to the gate so I was assuming you were waiting for someone. Apparently when I went out, you did start walking as well. The force is evident on your left hand which grasped that piece of paper, which means that it is of importance, well to you at least. You called my name and here we are standing in front of each other, with me refusing that letter and you being put into disgrace.”

Hurt was not enough to describe how John felt right now. Not only he got rejected, he was victimized by this antic Sherlock is known of: his deductions. Worse is that he read John’s courageous action like a teenager reading a fairytale for five year-olds.

A tear fell in John’s eye.

“If you do not have any more to say, please refrain from disturbing me again.”

And with those words Sherlock left, along with John’s hope for a true love.


	3. Chapter 3

If there’s one trait that sums up John Watson's character, he would definitely say bravery. Once he had to jump in front of a small van just to rescue a small kitten who was about to get hurt while crossing the street. Also, he had experienced chasing a robber once, when the criminal snatched an old lady’s purse at a nearby convenience store.

John concluded that he was brave. But being brave for love is another story.

He can still hear the fading footsteps of the great Sherlock Holmes, widening their distance for each other. John could not fathom that his four-year admiration of Sherlock has gone into waste, without the latter knowing how he truly feels.

But then again, bravery is what defines him.

“Tell me why.”

The footsteps took a halt. Sherlock looked back at him.

“Tell me why you can’t even shove this letter into your pocket and just pretend that you read it?!”

Sherlock fully faced John, who still clasped the letter in his hand, now in a crumpled state.

“I hate stupid people.” Sherlock answered bluntly. “No one in this institution is worth my time. How can you possibly be an exception?”

John’s pain turned into something else: anger. This man, this man that he used to adore up until this point, is just a selfish, arrogant, egoistic person who knew no one above his scale. It’s finally sinking inside him, and there’s no denying it.

“What exactly are you after? Is it my fame? My wealth? If that’s going to stop you from bothering me, then here’s…” Sherlock was about to pick something out of his pocket when John advanced towards him. When John saw that it was a bill, John forcefully swatted Sherlock’s hand in obvious rage.

“I want nothing from you! Not anymore!”

John decided to run away immediately, leaving Sherlock alone instead. Cold air blew as the school bell echoed inside the whole campus.

  * \--



“And what did I tell you?” Greg spoke, sitting on his chair as he makes it rock back and forth. John was slumped in his desk, his head resting and covered in his arms.

“I thought I could handle it.” He muffled in reply.

“The what?”

“Rejection.”

“And?”

John finally sprawled in his feet. “His fucking worthless traits!”

Greg sighed. He knew fully well the story behind John’s one-sided love for Sherlock. He was always at the side witnessing every glance, whimper, and adoration John gave out. Unfortunately he also bears witness in these gloomy times for his friend.

“Hey, why don’t we stop by at the arcade later and you can play shooting games. You’re good at that, right? You can imagine its Sherlock’s face.”

John just nodded.

  * \--



It was John’s decision to study high school in London. When his mother died, he was left with a small fortune that got him out of his rubbish hometown. His sister stayed in their house, filling her stomach every night with liquor. John hated the sight, so he left.

He was not good at the academics. However, he was good at rugby so he was recruited at his current school in London. He was used to living on his own, so he chose to rent an apartment that he figured would suffice until graduation. But he just can’t stand his old freaky landlady, who kept on sucking on him like a leech. Every now and then he receives a knock then a note of various payments: for electricity, water, and whatnots. John figured out to just ignore the notes he kept on receiving every now and then.

John arrived at his apartment at 7 PM. Greg went home earlier after accompanying him to the gaming center to have an out of town dinner with his family. With his right hand carrying some groceries and his heart carrying a lot of bad emotions, he was shocked on what greeted him on his doorstep.

His luggage.

He tried to unlock his front door with his key but it won’t open. He heard footsteps from the staircase above his room. His landlady’s room.

“What the hell is going on, Mrs. Jones?” John almost shouted.

“If you can’t cooperate as a tenant here Mr. Watson, you need to leave. Otherwise you have to pay for every note you disregarded.”

“I’m not that stupid! You were just sipping off money from everyone here!” The volume of John’s voice grew bigger.

“How dare you accuse me? Leave! Or else I will call the police!”

“To hell with this place! And fuck you old lady!”

John angrily stomped on the wooden floor, his left hand now carrying his heavy luggage as he exited the door.

 _Fuck this day!_ John shouted at the back of his mind, kicking the tree trunk which was standing in front of him.


	4. Chapter 4

“Mate, you’ve got to help me.” John’s tone was pleading for Greg’s mercy as he stood alone under the tree which just received his wrath earlier.

What could get any worse than this? He barely had enough sleep the night before, thinking about what would come about in his confession to Sherlock, which apparently was a disaster. Then he finds out he became homeless in a snap.

Yeah, great day.

“Look, you know my folks don’t want outsiders at our house. Lucky for you, we’ll be staying here for the night. But we’ll be back early in the morning, so you have to get out of our house before we get there.” Greg finally gave in to John’s request.

“Fuck, you just saved my ass tonight.”

“Yeah, for tonight. But how about in the coming days?”

The truth finally sank into John’s brains. The solution Greg offered will only last for hours.

“Do you know anyone who can help me?”

“Yeah. I’ll try.”

“Thanks buddy.”

“Always John.”

John heard the line being cut. If it wasn’t for Greg, he would be homeless tonight.

As John marched into the front door, he never dared to disarrange anything inside the Lestrade household. He took place in a long couch, his luggage and groceries placed near the door, and there he lay. He attempted to sleep, placing his right arm above his eyes.

Then he cried.

  * \--



John woke on his ringing phone. The sun’s rays shone angrily on his face, and he scrambled to his feet, only to realize he was still alone inside his best friend’s humble abode.

The call was of an unknown number, but he still picked it up.

“Hello?” he mumbled.

“Hey John! Remember me?”

John’s brain is still fuzzy. The want of getting back slumped into the couch he didn’t own and the need to entertain his early morning caller were in a tug-of-war.

“It’s Mike. Mike Stamford.”

“Oh! Hello Mike. What’s up?”

“Greg told me you needed a place to stay. Called me late at night.”

Suddenly John found the energy he needed to sit in the couch.

“Yeah. Got anything for me?”

“You’re not the only one in need. A dear friend of mine wants to have someone to share a rent. Only two blocks away from your school.”

“That-That’s great.” John’s excitement rose. _Finally something good happening._

“The landlady’s cool, too. She’s a friend of Mum’s and I personally know her.”

“I’m interested! Tell me the address?” John took a pen from the holder found in the center table in front of him. _They won’t recognize the disarrangement, would they?_

“Yeah. It’s two two one B, yeah, capital B, Baker Street. Look for Mrs. Hudson. I already had my mum call her.”

“Alright got it. Thanks so much for saving my ass. I owe you one.”

“No problem. Anytime.”

John stared at the writings in his palm. His life will continue.

  * \--



The weight of John’s baggage is quite heavy for his strength, not to mention the weight of exhaustion he bore since yesterday. He called Greg earlier to tell him about Mike’s suggestion. Now, he is standing in front of a door, which was an only inch away from a café. The façade of the building is more of an apartment type, but who is John to care about that right now.

He held the door bell delicately, hoping that the person that would greet him was not a big fat lady or an old man with a bad breath. And surprisingly, none of those images welcomed him.

It was instead an old yet beautiful lady with an apron on. She smelled of sweet cookies which made John’s mouth water since he hasn’t eaten anything since last night.

“Good morning my dear. Is there anything I could do for you?” A smile on the woman’s face made John forget his problems in a second.

“Y-Yes. I’m looking for Mrs. Hudson?”

“Oh! So you’re the lad that Mike told me?”

“Unfortunately, I am.” John laughed to which Mrs. Hudson laughed in response too.

“Come inside!”

John was feeling good about this. As he entered the room he noticed a staircase, so there was another floor leading upstairs. The lady went into a room which was possibly her own home. The building was not that old, although taters of wallpapers were observable.

John took a seat when Mrs. Hudson motioned to him. There were cookies and a pot of tea in her dining table, which she readily offered to John. The young man did not hesitate to get one to feed his stomach.

“So John was it? You’ll be sharing rooms with a tenant of mine. He probably wanted to be alone, but I wanted this place to be merrier, so when Mike called about you, I didn’t falter to take you in.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Would you like to see your room?”

John hated leaving the cookies, but he had no choice. He might come back for them later on.

As he followed the lady upstairs, he had a few reminders for him. “It’s okay to cook dear, since the flat already has a kitchen. But seeing you two as high school students who always have the tendency to be late, you can eat breakfast here, both of you. That way you won’t think about anything else at an early hour.

_I think I am gonna enjoy my stay here. Where was this place all this entire time?_

“Well dear, here’s your room.”

John stood in front of a green door. Excitement was building up inside him

_Finally, my new home._

As he turned the knob and had the door ajar, he saw a figure in a blue dressing gown standing right in front of him.

“Mrs. Hudson, if you would just care to knock even once…”

To John it was unmistakable. His eyes grew larger the minute he heard that baritone voice. He had second thoughts when he saw the figure. As the man in the dressing gown turned to face him, his suspicions were confirmed, and his only reaction was shock.

“As if you knock when you come to me dear. By the way, this is John Watson, you’re new flat mate.”

The taller man just stared at him. Mrs. Hudson turned her attention back to John.

“John, this is your flat mate, Sherlock Holmes.”

_What the actual fuck?_


	5. Chapter 5

It never mattered to John if he has a particular favorite day of the week. Greg likes Fridays, much like everybody else, with the same reason: because after it ends marks the start of the weekend of video games, parties, and even just lurking in your room doing nothing.

Now John confirms he never has or most likely, will never have a favorite day, because everyday might be a nightmare.

“Fuck mate, I’m so sorry.” Greg said, half-sincere of John’s revelations.

“This life is making me go insane! London is a huge place so how did we end up living in the same room?!”

“And what do you intend to do? You know London’s cramped up and you’ll never find a place in the middle of the school year. That’s enough luck for you.”

“But Greg, he set rules! His own rules! Rules I do not even agree with!”

“How hard can it be?”

“You just asked the most awful question my friend…”

  * \--



After taking a fresh breath of air outside the building where John’s new flat stood, he finally found strength in taking up the stairs and making his way back to his home.

His new home, with Sherlock Holmes.

As he stood in the door way, eyes roaming the entirety of the flat, he heard the voice that he wished he never encountered again.

“I see that Mrs. Hudson has entertained you with her hilarious cookies.” The voice came from one of the two single couches that were in front of a hibernating fireplace. Sherlock was reading a newspaper, an odd sight for teenagers in this age, well at least to John’s perspective.

“Y-Yeah.” John responded in a very low volume.

“Look…” Sherlock glared at John, not putting down the newspaper which was covering his torso. “… I am not the type of person who meddles with other people’s business. So as long as you follow _my_ rules, we won’t have any problems.”

“Y-Your ru-“

“First, I will play my violin whenever I want. It makes this…” he points at his side of his forehead. “…calmer. Second, that fridge is stuffed with my preserved experiments. So unless you're a fan of severed heads or human internal organs, best preferred not to open it. Third, I don’t want anybody, and I repeat _anybody_ to know that we are living together. It stains my credibility and I plan to graduate and leave the institution in peace. Lastly, I prefer this place to be quiet, so please do not talk to me unless it is a matter of life and death, which I think, I will still not care. Follow these conditions and we will live together, happily.”

John dropped his luggage, rage building up inside him. “Who the fuck are you to set these bloody rules?!”

“I had this place first. It’s part of the course of evolution and biology. Has the school taught you nothing?” Sherlock answered him, his attention now back on the paper in his hands.

“Well you can stuff those rules up your arse!”

  * \--



“Well that’s very cool of you John. Walking out on him like that.” Greg said, his smile forming, feeling impressed of how his best friend burned the great Holmes with his attitude.

“How can I go on for the next few months Greg?” John’s worrying tone is evident.

“And how were you two this morning by the way?”

“You don’t have the slightest idea.”

  * \--



John woke up ten minutes before his alarm blared. In those ten minutes John imagined how this day would come to an end. He never imagined how he ended up like this. The least he wanted was to see Sherlock again. Now he’s living with the man! How would he face Sherlock? How should he act in front of the man he had fallen in love for four years, the same man who rejected him downright?

_To hell with this life!_

John was confident he went out of bed early. This was by far the earliest he woke. Maybe because it was his first night sleeping and waking up with a different roof pattern, or maybe because he is still adjusting to the comfort of his new home. For whatever reason, he didn’t know.

So he was very well astonished when he found Sherlock in Mrs. Hudson’s dining table, a cup of tea sitting beside his plate, a phone on his left hand.

“John, good morning! Breakfast?” Mrs. Hudson said energetically, his hands carrying a plate full of pan cakes.

“Yeah. Thank you Mrs. Hudson.” John sat in front to where Sherlock was seated. He stared at the taller man for a few seconds, engulfing the mere fact that they are here, in the same room, on the same table, eating the same breakfast. Never in John’s life that he had this image, now becoming a reality. But then, he remembered one of Sherlock’s rules: to not talk with him if it’s nonsense.

_Well I hate to break it to you mate, but I don’t follow your rules._

“S-So…” John began. “…you’re an early riser too, huh, Sherlock?”

There was no response from him.

_Fuck. Should’ve called him ‘Mr. Holmes’? Is that what he wants?_

Finally, Mrs. Hudson breaks the awkward silence. “Well, you know John, Sherlock isn’t the type of kid who sleeps.”

“What was that?” John was puzzled by her words.

The landlady started serving the hot pancakes on their plates. “That’s the odd thing about your flat mate John. He hardly sleeps, and sometimes never touches his food. It’s like a display inside an old cabinet, never touched, never dusted.”

“Oh, always the talkative one, are you, dear landlady? Spilling my secrets over a stranger?” Sherlock’s tone was annoyed.

“He’s not a stranger, young man! He’s name is John and he is your new flat mate! You need to know more about him because…”

“I do not go down on this dining table just to be taught good manners by an old woman whom I’ve respected so much.” Sherlock’s annoyed tone now forms a smirk, seeing as the old lady also smiled at him. John noticed this, and there, right there, he felt a little flicker of warmth in the other man’s smile.

Sherlock finished his tea in one gulp, picked his blazer and put it on, then grabbed his bag and prepared to leave, when John suddenly have an idea; an idea he must test right here, right now. John motioned to his plate as well, eating his food fast and trailed behind Sherlock.

“H-Hey. I’m just wondering if…”

“No.”

“I-I haven’t…”

“No, you can’t come with me to school. You are an idiot if you thought I’d let you. People will talk. It’s like you don’t know how to walk. End of discussion.”

Sherlock opened the door, but John still followed. As they emerged outside, two men, both in tailored suits were guarding the door of Sherlock’s limousine. Sherlock walked towards it and one of them opened the door for him.

“Sherlock, wait-“

But the guards prevented him from advancing any further.

Sherlock only looked straight ahead, and the car started its engine and then it left.

John was furious, and challenged. He knows what to do now. He needs to befriend Sherlock so that he could destroy him.

_Why would I destroy him? Because he fucking broke my heart!_


	6. Chapter 6

The smell of cut grass lingered on the school’s enormous open field. Flying balls from different sporting teams flew above the ground: softball, tennis, soccer, and baseball decorated the sky above Greg and John’s heads as they watched other athlete’s respective practice sets. Greg noticed one of his shoelaces were untied, and fixed it.

“So that’s your plan? To befriend the man and then _crush_ him?” His best friend huffed.

“Why?” John sensed something in Greg’s tone. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“Well it’s up to you. You were head over heels for him just last week and suddenly, this?”

“You just see mate. Just wait and see.”

A soccer ball rolled in front of the two boys. John noticed that it landed on his foot.

 “Hey, by the way.” Greg started again. “Have you studied for the qualifying exam for college?”

John shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Well. I’m thinking of not going to college though.”

Then suddenly a light bulb turned on at the back of John’s mind. He immediately turned into Greg’s direction and ruffled his head. “Man, you are a genius in unexpected ways!” The other man was just puzzled and at the same time annoyed at his now disheveled hair, which took about thirty minutes to fix.

Filled with excitement, John kicked the ball enthusiastically back to the soccer player who signaled to motion the ball towards him.

“The exam! I will use it to destroy him!”

  * \--



_Wait. But how would I do that?_

John was now in his bed, dilemma accompanying him as he lay down. He proudly spoke to Greg earlier that he will use the college qualifying exam to get his revenge from Sherlock. But how would he exactly do that?

_Idiot! Such an idiot, John Watson!_

He buried his face back on his pillow, unsure of what to do.

Outside, John can hear the footsteps his flat mate made, striding back and forth, and an indication that he might be busy with something. While John’s head is thinking of ways to exploit Sherlock, he also thought of Sherlock’s brilliance. _He is out there doing other else because he doesn’t need to study._

Now John’s hate subsided, and felt sorry for himself.

  * \--



The following morning, John woke up with the flat quiet as dead. As he ran on Mrs. Hudson’s place, he found the landlady cleaning the used plates which were situated on Sherlock’s side of the table.

“Sherlock left already?” he asked.

“Yes John.”

Then the door bell rang. “Who would come so early in the morning?” Mrs. Hudson said as she paced towards the sink.

“I’ll get it.” John said politely, arranging his neck tie while walking towards the door. As he did so, a delivery boy smiled at him.

“Mr. John Watson, I presume?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Sign here please.” The boy offered him a pen and the delivery sheet. Once John was done signing, the boy gave him a small brown envelope.

“Thanks.” was all John could muster. The delivery seemed to be in a hurry. He wanted to ask why he came so early but he already dashed off.

Astonished by the package he had in his hands at a very early hour, John wondered what might be its contents. Maybe from Harry? Or his previous landlady? Oh God, is this a warrant of arrest?

“John! What was that?” He was pulled back in reality by Mrs. Hudson.

“A package arrived… for me.”

“Well best see the contents now or you’ll be late for school young man.”

John can’t help but draw a smile on his face. Mrs. Hudson was far from how his former dumb landlady treated him. He can feel maternal care from this old lady whom he just met three days ago.

“Okay.” He replied as he rushed back into the flat.

As he ascended towards his room, John sat on his chair and leaned on his desk, which was illuminated by a ray of sunshine, thanks to a window on the side of his bed. He then opened the brown envelope, feeling both scared and curious. As his hands slipped inside, he found a piece of small glossy paper. With an ease he pulled it out and was appalled by what he saw.

_This. This is what will crush Sherlock Holmes._


	7. Chapter 7

“Can you see him?” John asked Greg nervously. The latter peeked through one of the parked cars in the lot, enduring the constant small pushes John gave him.

“Fucking wait, you madman!”

“Sorry.” John finally calmed.

“Wait… wait! John, he’s here!”

John confirmed that Sherlock was about to enter his next period. He took a deep breath and ran fearlessly towards his flatmate, with no further encouragement from Greg.

“Sherlock!” He screamed. The figure stopped on his tracks, and as he figured out that it was John Watson calling him out, he continued walking until the smaller man gripped his left arm.

“If this is nonsense, I will have you kicked out of the flat for breaking enough of my rules.” Sherlock finally uttered to John who was catching his breath.

“Well… will… you still…” John panted. “…if you saw this?!” 

The confidence in John’s tone made Sherlock turn his head on the paper the former was holding.

 

_How in the world?!_

Alarm surged in Sherlock’s veins. He was seriously shocked by what his own eyes saw. He is a man of science, which he knows for himself. Which is why he believes on that simple saying to see is to believe, even though this means horror to him.

“How did you get this?!” Sherlock tried to grab the paper from John’s grasp.

“Never mind how I got it.” John’s breathing is now back to normal, as he played Sherlock in his own hands. “You’re such a little angel here, you know, unlike the prick you are now.”

“Give me that _photo_ back!” Sherlock insisted angrily.

“Maybe I’ll have it for safekeeping, and then send it to the entire school for your humiliation?” John can’t help himself to grin. _Finally shot through the weakness of the great Sherlock Holmes!_

“What do you want from me?!”

“Tutor me.”

“Come again?”

“The college qualifying test is coming, right? I need to be in the top fifty. If I get through, you’ll have this back.”

“Are you insane?!”

“Then maybe I should just send it right away.” John threatened as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Fine! Okay! Deal.” Sherlock finally surrendered. John cannot fathom the happiness he felt inside. _Sherlock as my tutor!_ Suddenly, a faint blush emerged in John’s cheek.

_The man I adored for four years will tutor me._

“But I won’t make any promises.” Sherlock’s tune was now dead serious. John looked at him. “The top fifty is comprised mostly of students from Classes A and B. A madman like you, who is from Class F, will need thrice the energy if you want to keep up.”

“Try me.”

“We’ll see. Tonight. At the flat.”

Sherlock continued to walk back inside the building, leaving John in bewilderment.

Back at the lot, Greg was grinning, as he lit his kept cigarette in his pocket. They were not allowed to smoke inside the school grounds, but it was enough to use his secret stick to celebrate his best friend’s first triumph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby Sherlock Art made by my brother from another womb spncassbutt.tumblr.com who never hesitated upon my immediate request. For commissions or requests, please do not hesitate to contact her. I love you bro!


	8. Chapter 8

John felt like he was still floating as he walked back to the flat. His used-to-be heavy leather bag was feeling weightless. The streets were filled with shouting car horns, babbling mothers, and homeless beggars. But the only thing he could hear were Sherlock’s echoing words.

  _We’ll see. Tonight. At the flat._

When he first held Sherlock’s cute (yet humiliating at their age) photograph, an inner voice in John’s head whispered to keep it all by himself. John cannot fathom that this innocent, adorable Sherlock projected on paper is also the man of his dreams. However, another voice also told him that this is the chance he’s been waiting for to get revenge. The latter dominated his choices. Inimicality ruled John’s heart for a moment, still wanting to stare at the photo that made him smile, and put the photo back at the envelope.

_Whoever sent this is a fallen angel._

John never told Greg about the content of the envelope in his hand. For once, John wanted to be selfish, and of course he never wanted to humiliate Sherlock’s reputation that he long built for himself. He wanted to tease Sherlock, but remain loyal. Still, the idea of having something only he and Sherlock knew is exciting. So he only told Greg that he’s plotting something, and as his best friend, Greg trusted him, and followed his instructions to be a look-out for Sherlock.

And now the plot was converted into success. The great mind of Sherlock Holmes will be his teacher until the qualifying exam comes. John was so excited.

_But isn’t destroying him my original plan?_

The thought came to him as he ascended the stairs. As he fumbled on his keys and swung the door open, Sherlock was standing in a distance, facing the window near his violin stand. An arm is raised on his right ear, and he heard him talk to someone on the phone.

“I know you’re there. I can hear your breathing. If I’ve caused you a problem, you should’ve just talked to me!” Sherlock said angrily.

_Who is he angry with? Maybe a family member? From his classmates? Oh shit, does he have a girlfriend? Worse… boyfriend?_

Sherlock seemed to sense another presence and ended the call by saying “Talk to me, again.” Then his focus gained towards John, which was met by the smaller man.

“After dinner. Proceed to the dining room…” he said, pointing to the direction of the furniture. “Bring the study materials you deem necessary. Until then, no talking.”

John can only manifest a nod. Sherlock walked briskly to the kitchen and opened the fridge, examining something on a test tube. John, on the other hand walked towards his room. As he closed the door, he touched his chest; he can feel his heart pounding so fast.

_He didn’t forget. We’re really doing this._

  * \--



John was the first to leave Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen. He hurriedly got his things: papers, pen, pencils, and other school materials he needed. When he opened his drawer, he saw an unopened box of his favorite tea, so he brought it as well. _Maybe it can avert crisis,_ he thought.

As he waited on the table, he can see the compound microscope Sherlock owned. _Maybe they are so rich, he owns one!_ John’s dream was always to be a soldier, but seeing cool things doctors use makes his heart flutter.

_Maybe Sherlock wants to be a doctor._

“No. I do not intend to pursue anything in the medical field.”

John was startled by Sherlock’s voice. _He’s a fucking psychic for God’s sake!_ When Sherlock walked towards the table and sat next to John, his heart can’t stop beating faster than normal. He started to act weirdly, not meeting Sherlock’s eyes. He scanned text books, fumbling at his notebooks and then…

“Focus!”

Finally John looked at him. Sherlock was wearing a plain white long sleeved-shirt and striped pajamas. He never saw his flatmate like this: so simple. Sherlock never emerges from his room at night when John is in the living room, so he rarely sees him in normal, ragged attire. What’s more striking is that Sherlock’s curly hair is now fixed thanks to a headband. John could see his entire face without those curls he used to see him with. This is the normal Sherlock Holmes.

“Let’s start with Chemistry.” Sherlock said, pulling John’s reality back in his sane mind. “I’ll make a 10-item questionnaire on balancing equations. I want to know your capabilities first.”

John just stared at him as Sherlock wrote something down on a piece of paper. He just can’t help it.

Finally Sherlock finished writing and passed the paper to John.

“Twenty minutes.”

John never felt so determined in his life. He wanted to impress Sherlock and make him say _God I underestimated you! You’re much more brilliant than I thought!_ So John looked at the paper like a predator ready to tackle his prey. Sherlock just sat there, waiting for him.

Twenty minutes came to an end and Sherlock gave his hand to John, indicating to pass him the paper. John shook his head, not wanting to give it to him.

“Give me the paper so that I can check it.” Sherlock said plainly.

“C-Can we you know, extend?” John chuckled nervously.

“No. Hand me the paper or I will leave.”

That was enough for John to turn in the paper.

Sherlock held the paper and examined it thoroughly. A few seconds later, the genius’s hands started to tremble, making the sheet crumple.

“Are you joking with me?” He managed a smirk.

“Did I… do good?”

“Good? This was far from nothing!” Sherlock slammed the paper on the table. “You skipped nearly the first five items, then proceeded but left all of the questions unfinished?! These are simple problems an elementary kid could work on!”

“I-I’m sorry.” John bowed his head, feeling ashamed.

Sherlock took a deep breath. “Balancing equations are not as hard as one thinks. See this equation?” He pointed out with his pencil on the now crumpled paper, which caught John’s attention. “You just put a 2 here, then the carbon on the other side is 2 as well. For oxygen, there’s six on the other side, so you need to find a way to make it also six here. Two molecules of oxygen are found here, so you could put…”

“Three.”

Sherlock was caught off guard by John’s response.

“That’s right. So it now becomes s-“

“Six! Six oxygen atoms!”

“Right.”

John pulled the paper away from Sherlock’s grasp and started solving.

“I’ll give you an hour. Enough to examine my spore sample.” Sherlock said, but John never elicited a response, already caught up with the equation problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to see how you guys imagine headband!Sherlock because gahhh he's so handsome in my mind!
> 
> Message me on Tumblr: the221b-consultingblogger.tumblr.com or leave a comment here! :)


	9. Chapter 9

The sounds of the gaming arcade are a melodic euphony to the likes of John Watson and Gregory Lestrade. Here, right now, are the two of them, standing and feeling the intense action given to them by _Top Gun_ , as they aimed they fake toy guns in front of the disorganized, pixilated blokes who in return tries to shoot them back.

“So how was your first night?” Greg boldly asked, firing at three men who were on the second floor of the building they are in.

“Don’t make it sound like we had sex.” John replied, as he precisely fired his gun on a bomber that was hiding beneath the counter.

“Why? You didn’t?” Greg teasingly retorted, looking at John laughingly. John never faced him and instead shot another two masked men who were about to shoot Greg’s character, which gained Greg’s attention. “Fuck, that was close.” The screen displayed LEVEL CLEAR! John lowered his gun now.

“To answer your question, no, we did not have sex. Second, I am a man of dignity so why should I offer myself to someone who dislikes me? And third, I do fantasize about him, that I am guilty.” John said in full honesty.

“Now, now, be calm mate. I don’t want to hear more about these ‘fantasies’.” Greg chuckled nervously.

The screen displayed the next floor of their imaginary conquest, and John’s stance indicated that he is ready for battle, when he heard a voice nearby.

“If I hadn’t known better, I will think that you are already in the army John.”

The blonde man looked back and saw a very familiar face which made him disregard his gaming frenzy.

“Y-You…”

Finally Greg interjected and ran towards the man, and he hugged the figure. “If it isn’t James fucking Sholto!” He shook the man, an indication of his arousing excitement.

“James…” John managed to say, as the repeated gun fires blared from the screen.

“Hello, John.” James Sholto said.

  * \--



The people inside the mall lived as if walking through the shops is a part of their daily living. As their time had gone to waste, John and Greg, now accompanied by James Sholto were leaning against a railing that protects them from the heights of the third floor.

“Since when did you arrive?” Greg looked at him intently, as the two of them faced each other, leaning on the railing. John is staring at the lowest ground his eyes could reach.

“Just this week. We’re taking a break from training.” James smilingly said.

“So how was it? Do you bring cool guns? Shoot at targets? Throw bombs?” The gleam on Greg’s eyes is undeniable. John giggled, making James look at him in a brief moment.

“I’m still on my first year, Greg. Guns and targets, check. But bombs, no we haven’t.”

“Gaaah!” Greg almost shouted in desperation. “You are so lucky to enter the Royal Marine Corps!”

“You can too you know.” James replied.

“You want to be in Scotland Yard, Greg. You made yourself clear, a million times.” John finally joined in the conversation. “You still get to do those stuff.”

“Right? Right?” Greg said, his fascination still overwhelming him. “But John, you told me you wanna get in the army!”

James impassively looked at the people going by, and John finally faced them both.

“Yeah. So?”

“Well, James is here! Surely you can get an exception? Maybe even get a recommendation from his three-star General dad!”

John fell silent. The other two men just stared at him. Finally he said, “I have to go. I need to study.” He hurriedly grabbed his bag and punched Greg in the shoulder lightly. “See you tomorrow.” Turning to James, he said, “It was really nice seeing you again, old friend.”

“Yeah. You too.” James replied, as he watched John dissolve in a wave of people.

  * \--



Sherlock was at his one of his little experiments again when John finally settled on their kitchen table, putting down his Literature and History textbooks down. Tonight marks the second day of Sherlock’s tutoring services in exchange for John’s hideous photograph of his. As he started scanning his Literature textbooks, he was awfully silent in the first few minutes.

“Pre-occupied.” Sherlock finally broke the silence.

“Huh?” John looked up. Sherlock’s eyes were still on the eyepiece of his microscope.

“You’ll never appreciate literature if your mind is otherwise pre-occupied.”

“Yeah, figures.”

John closed the book at hand, and decided to put it back in his room, and get his Physics instead. Walking like a soulless body, John returned the book in his desk and his hands roamed for his Physics book when suddenly he realized something which made his heart race.

_Sherlock just talked to me. Wait… He did, right? He opened the conversation. Right?_

John felt his cheeks blushed, and stayed at his room for a moment, before going back to the kitchen.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello guys. you might notice that the total number of chapters will still increase, depending on my length of writing.

The second time John saw his old friend James Sholto was when Greg accepted his invitation for lunch. James made himself clear that he wanted Greg to bring John, well according to his friend’s words. John did not have any choice, but to say yes to his demanding bestfriend.

As they took a walk to the café where James wanted to meet, John recollected his memories of his former mate. James was his former neighbor back at his old flat. He is two years older than him, and was an occupant there first, before John moved in. His room was in front of John’s so almost every morning, they see each other. When Greg frequently visits John, they also became the best of friends with James, especially their fascination of action movies and military stories. In almost all of their meetings, Greg usually leaves first because of his curfew, so the neighbors are left inside John’s room often, talking about other stuff, which is why he knew John wanted to serve in the military. In return, John knew that James’ father was an official of the Royal Marine Corps, and he was awaiting a confirmation for his entry, making money out of part time jobs so it will be worth the wait. John also owes James his knowledge of the various London streets, teaching him shortcuts and other tricks to save money for daily expenses.

The budding friendship between them grew into something John never imagined it would. James became John’s first crush. He loved the way James treated him: with comfort, understanding, and affection. He didn’t tell Greg because he is a blabbermouth as he is. When John finally decided to tell James he asked him first.

“Hey James. What do you think of boy to boy relationships?”

“Oh goodness. Really? You asking me that?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh come one John. I am entering Marine Corps. Surely I’d want to please a woman than a man. I mean it’s disgusting! Pleasuring other people who has the same genitalia as you!”

John fell silent.

“Why John? Are you gay?” The tone of disgust evident in his tone.

“Wh-What?!” John stammered. “What the hell! I want to be in the military. No I’m not!”

“Good. I hate gays.”

John’s heart was shattered into pieces. But he took into consideration the positive side. At least, he did not confess.

_Unlike what I fucking did to Sherlock Holmes!_

That was their last conversation. James went into the army when John’s freshman year came to an end, so is their communication with each other.

Finally both of them arrived on the said café. James was sitting idly at the table near the cashier. Greg and John went to him. The memories still flooded John’s brain, much more that he now saw James face to face.

The three of them ordered, and while waiting, caught up with each other’s experiences. John, although a bit nervous, still handled the situation more than yesterday.

When the food arrived, Greg told John, “Hey, the sports festival is next week right?”

“Yeah.” John replied, sipping on his drink.

“Hey James! You can come! See us play sports.” Greg faced James.

“Totally! I’m cool with that. You’ll gonna be in rugby John?” James asked.

“I dropped the rugby team in my sophomore year. I’m on track and field for the festival though.”

 “That’s still cool!” James exclaimed. “I’ll look forward to it.”

John bit the last piece of steak from his plate, as he now starts to get anxious.

  * \--



The anxiety still crept up John’s spine even as he went home. When dinner came, John asked Sherlock that he’ll skip the tutoring tonight. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he sipped his tea, awaiting for John’s reason.

“Is Mr. Davidson your Calculus teacher as well?” the smaller blonde man asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, the problem set he gave. I still never got on with any of it.”

“What? He gave that a week ago.”

“And I’m cramming it. As if you finished it.”

“I did. A week ago, too.”

“What the…”

“At least, no disturbances tonight.”

John retired to his room earlier than Sherlock. Aside from his on and off anxiety, he has his untouched problem set due tomorrow.

Setting all of his things at the table, he lit his study lamp and started to scan the paper. He tried to solve the first question, but any scribbling and attempt was useless. He slumped on his chair as he heard Sherlock’s footsteps outside, and then gone, which indicated that Sherlock was in his room.

John hesitated but he was left with no other choice. Mustering his courage, he went and knocked on Sherlock’s door, then opened it.

“You just knocked. I never allowed you to open it.” Sherlock said, not turning his back. He was at his study table as well, but in front of a laptop.

“I wanted to ask you about this first problem. Can you solve it for me, as a guide?” John pleaded.

“Give me.” Was only Sherlock’s answer. As John maneuvered toward the dark-curly haired man, his eyes wandered at Sherlock’s room. It was the first time he entered here. The room was plain, with no abhorrent decorations. On his left he noticed that there was a frame of the periodic table of elements, which was the only hanging component visible in the room. Sherlock’s bed was also enormous for him to sleep alone, although the bed sheets were only a little crumpled, probably because Sherlock does not like to sleep.

In a manner of seconds, Sherlock handed the paper back to John. “No disturbance, please.” He reminded his flatmate.

When John went back to his room, he marveled on Sherlock’s absolute and beautiful handwriting. There were no erasures, as if he knew the answer directly, a proof of his unimaginable brain. He also quickly understood the process of how he came up with the answer.

Finally John was set to answer the second question, but left him in a fuzzy state of mind. Breathing deeply, he went back to Sherlock’s room. He has no choice but to ask, or else he can’t answer all of them in time.

As the first knock came, the other side exclaimed in annoyance. “What?!” He opened the door and asked him. Sherlock once again solved the problem for him.

Going back to his seat feeling determined, he braced himself for the third question. But still, he can’t fucking answer it! So the only solution: Sherlock.

As he attempted to knock, the door opened with a loud click and an angry sway. Sherlock stood in front of him, grabbed the paper in his hands and said angrily, “Fifteen minutes!” Then he banged the door in front of John, leaving the shorter man startled.

Feeling guilt, John stayed in front of Sherlock’s door, squatting as he waited for him to come out. Finally the door opened and he hurriedly went to him. Sherlock dropped the papers in his gullible hands.

“No more.” Sherlock said plainly. Then he banged the door again and clicked the lock.

As John stared at the paper, he can’t help but to be astonished. Every item was solved, complete with written explanations and answers. Everything was done for him by his genius flat mate. His anxiety is now starting to fade away, as he jumped back to his desk and studied the papers on his hand.

He can’t help but to feel lucky.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter's relatively long... sorry guys *hides under a blanket*

Monday came to the people of Baker Street. John rose from his bed excitingly, as his most awaited annual school event happens today: the sports festival. For such a short time, blokes like him who belong to Class F will have a time to shine not in academics, but in the field of sports. A lot of students in Class A are known to have weak immune systems and cardiac resistances, so they will be an easy lot. He and Greg promised each other to win, especially on the track relay event.

Carrying his bag, he descended the stairs to find Sherlock once again in the dining table, sipping his morning tea. Mrs. Hudson was sitting right beside him.

“Morning.” John said happily.

“My, you’re quite energetic today John!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.

“Of course! Today’s the sports festival, the only time that Class F will stand out.” He replied in a sarcastic voice, shooting a glare to his flat mate.

“What events John?” Mrs. Hudson added.

“The borrowing race and track relay.” John said biting at his syrup-filled waffle slice.

“And how about you, Sherlock dear?” the old lady asked the curly lad.

“Only for a lost bet. A promise to keep.” He answered coldly. “The hundred meter dash and track relay as well.”

John shot him a surprised look. _Wait, he runs?_

“Don’t give me that idiotic look.” Sherlock eyed John. “It’s not to my liking, and yes I can participate in running events even though I do not eat, if that’s your concern. The only thing I hate is transport.”

“Oh my! You’re running on the same track today? That’s great boys!”

John put down his utensils. Not only James will come, he will have to compete with Sherlock. He wonders if he must feel excited or anxious today.

  * \--



Unsurprisingly, the school’s outdoor field was filled not only by students, but with visitors as well. The cheers coming from Class B students ringed the ears of everyone at a distance. John sits on one of the benches when the announcer said, “The hundred meter dash will start in five minutes!”

_That’s Sherlock’s first event. I wonder if he can manage to outrun the others._

“Geez, look at all those nerds.” A voice came to him. Greg was looking on the other side of the bench where most of the Class A students cramped.

“Greg.” John looked at him. “How did your first event went?”

“Piece of cake.”

“Yet you still get annoyed by Class A.”

“I mean look at them John! They still fucking study! It’s supposed to be about sports damn it!”

“Relax big man.”

As Greg sat beside John and took a sip of water from the bottle he carried earlier, John can’t avoid but to ask, “Is James coming?”

“Yeah, but he’ll be running a bit late today.”

John just nodded. The crowd started to thicken when the announcer blared, “The hundred meter dash event will start now.”

From where he was sitting, he can see Sherlock standing at the starting line. Unlike the other participants who stretched their bodies for warm-up, Sherlock just stood there, like a lost lamb in a herd of horses.

When their marks have been set, and all of the players readied themselves, John can’t help but to stand up to see every step that Sherlock will make. He wanted to witness if Sherlock can manage to run, or at least finish the race.

As the gun was shot and the runners began, John can’t believe what he saw. Sherlock was running ahead of everybody else. With his long strides, he managed to lead. His curly hair bounced beautifully, and his dripping sweat almost outlined his hidden abdominal muscles. John doesn’t want to blink, afraid that he will miss every second that Sherlock took.

Truly indeed, Sherlock won the race. It was a marvel to see Sherlock run, and it never occurred to John that his mind is not the only thing that was great, but his physical body as well.

“Hey, wasn’t that Sherlock Holmes? The senior top student?” A girl clearly from Class C whispered, but audible for John to hear. “It’s the first time he joined, right?”

_What? His first time?_

“Yeah. See the whole Class A? They all put their notes just to see him run! He is really above everyone else!” Another girl replied. “And he’s so handsome!”

“How could he be so perfect?” A third girl interjected.

“And the winner for the hundred meter dash event, is Sherlock Holmes from Class A!”

The three girls shrieked as they blushed, shouting “We love you Sherlock!”

John can’t avoid but to agree. Everything in Sherlock was perfect: his looks, his physique, his brain. But one thing that make take time to fix though, is his attitude.

“The track relay will start in fifteen minutes!” The speaker announced.

“I can’t believe your hubby won, John.” Greg said in disbelief.

“Piss off.”

“But you’ll keep you’re promise right? To win the relay.”

John smirked. “Of course. We’ll make Sherlock Holmes and his team eat dirt.”

  * \--



“Hey guys!” James Sholto came running to Greg and John, who apparently started to warm themselves up for the event.

“Hey James.” John said.

“Man, you barely got here on time.” Greg told the older man. To John he said, “I’m gonna get ahead first, get us bottled water before the race starts.

“Yeah.” John said as he saw Greg dash off.

“Good luck John. I’m so hyped up to see you today! Greg told me you planned to win this a long time ago.” His tall, black-haired friend encouraged him.

“Truth is, I’m quite nervous.” John admitted. Suddenly, he felt a light kiss landing on his forehead. James immediately pushed away.

“Better?” James smiled.

“Y-Yeah.” John managed to answer, the hotness in his cheeks started to rise.

  * \--



“Hey John, I think I’ll be the one competing with Holmes for the last round.” Greg informed John as he wiped the sweat dripping from his face.

“R-right.”

“In any case, focus on my hand so that you won’t miss giving me the baton.”

“Of course.”

“Did something happened to you back there, with James?”

“He… k-ki-…”

“Runners on your marks please!” The announcer said, cutting off John’s words.

“Let’s do this John!”

“All right!”

John slapped his cheeks. _This is not the right time to get distracted! Whatever that was all about, I can think of that later._

John positioned himself on his mark. He is the second to the last runner. He is expected to deliver the baton into Greg’s hand with precision, who will deliver it to the finish line.

“On your mark, get set, go!”

The first batch of runners raced to the lead. The crowd was awed when Class F lead the race, but it never shocked John. They were prepared for this, after all.

As soon as the second runner dashed, John prepared himself, staring at the track ahead. However, he was slightly distracted, as he saw his flat mate on the other lane. Due to his long duration of staring, he almost missed the feel of the baton on his hand, almost letting go of it when it reached his grasp. John muttered an inaudible curse, but calmed down as he managed to save it and ran.

Class F was clearly on the lead. He ran like he was chased by a madman. Ahead of him, was his bestfriend, smiling due to their lead. He looked to the other lane again for a moment where he saw Sherlock, also looking back.

_Look at me Sherlock! Look at me you bastard! I will fucking crush you!_

John was so focused on staring at Sherlock while running, when he almost bumped onto Greg. Thanks to Greg’s athleticism, he caught the baton flawlessly.

“See you behind me, Holmes!” he teased Sherlock.

“Run Greg run!” John shouted.

As John saw Greg run, he hurriedly went to the finish line, where most of his fellow classmates stood, awaiting Greg’s victory. However, due to the flock of crowd, he finds it difficult to surge forward.

Jumping, he can see that Sherlock is now behind Greg, leaving the former with only a small distance to cover to snatch away Class F’s lead.

Finally John managed to find a space in the crowd. He is now at the side of the finish line. The first figure to emerge was Greg, but only for a few seconds, Sherlock managed to run ahead of him.

The crowd was going crazy! Everyone expected for Class F to lead, yet here comes the ace of everything, Sherlock Holmes, snatching the crown away from everyone in the said class.

John was struggling to keep his position from the insane crowd. Opposite of him, he can see James cheering on the other side. But Sherlock clearly took over the lead, the finish line awaiting for his arrival.

As the hero from Class A narrowed his distance from the finish line, a continual push from the people at his back challenged John’s balance. Failing to struggle for it, John started to fall in his front, as Sherlock was only a few inches away to the finish.

John clumsily fell to the dusty ground. Realizing his fate, he tried to get up, but failed to do so. Sherlock on the other hand, cannot control his speed, finally crossing the finish line and stumbling on top of his shorter flat mate.

The scene gained shocks and mumbles from the then-excited crowd. It was clearly an accident, yet the two men involved cannot manage to get up immediately.

Sherlock finally managed to kneel, turning John in his back. He eyed his ankle, which may be a victim of sprain. Adding the stress of his weight and the force of impact from the fall, John might not be able to stand up without support.

“What the fuck were you thinking, huh mate?” The outsider James Sholto finally emerged from the crowd. “Can’t you see what’s in front of you?” He pushed Sherlock, making the taller man land into the ground again. Meanwhile, Greg was still catching his breath when the scene was happening.

Sherlock now managed to kneel once again, as he quietly and carefully assisted and carried John on his back, not bursting out any comment. When he felt John comfortable in his back, he started to walk.

“Move.” Was the only thing that came from his mouth.

“What did you just say?!” Anger still evident in James’s eyes.

“I’m bringing him to the clinic. Move.”

“Bring him down! I’ll carry him!”

“And break another limb? Sorry to inform you, but you’re an army trainee, not a first aid expert. I hate to repeat myself. Move.”

The command in Sherlock’s baritone voice was evident. Apart from the shock that this stranger knew his career, there was nothing James can do but to let them pass. Sherlock walked away from the peering eyes, carrying John like he was a fragile object.

Meanwhile, John can’t help his heart to skip a beat. This scene should only be allowed in dreams, shouldn’t it?


	12. Chapter 12

“Get in.”

John shot Sherlock a puzzled look.

“Get in. Before I change my mind.”

Leaving no choice, John followed Sherlock’s orders. He knows a long awkward moment will follow these circumstances. But following the earlier circumstances which lead the two of them here, he certainly has no other option. He has to ride in Sherlock’s limousine, with Sherlock, on their way back to the flat.

John knows that the distance from the flat to their school is achievable by walking. He still wonders why Sherlock needs to be delivered to school by a ridiculous and yet awesome looking limo. He wanted to ask, but the awkwardness between them prevailed.

The luxury inside the car was defined by its space. The distances of the seats were much more expanded than normal, so maybe 12 people can share seats. Yet Sherlock is the only one who gets to ride it, everyday, without a companion.

_Does it feel… lonely?_

As the car had its way into London’s streets, Sherlock just sat there, facing the tinted window, clearly in a deep thought.

Finally John decided to break the silence. “I’m sorry for the troubles I’ve caused Sherlock.”

“Mhm.”

“Really. And I’m also thankful. What you did earlier-“

But the car already pulled over, and as the taller man tried to open his side of the door, John grabbed his arm, which made him still.

“Can I at least know how you knew James was an army trainee?”

Sherlock closed the door, unbuttoning his blazer. “His hands.”

“Hands?”

“The roughness in his hands means he had undergone a lot of work. Based on his stature and muscle build, he has been through years of physical training. He wore a leather jacket with an expensive brand, as well as the undershirt, but he did not wear a pair of rubber shoes, just high-cut sneakers, meaning he is a well-off man. The Royal Marine Corps usually tends to have their trainees for a vacation, possibly two weeks ago. My deductions were further proven wrong when he shouted at me, and heard a small cling of his dog tags, which were hidden under his jacket.”

John just stared in awe.

“And I know he was an important person to you. Well, at least, a former important person.”

“How can you say so?”

“As I carried you on my back, an involuntary movement was made by your body. There was a moment when you’re body motioned at an angle that you wanted to go to him. That can only occur when there is a past connection between you and that person, maybe your first love?”

“No. First crush.”

“My mistake.” Then Sherlock finally exited the vehicle.

_Idiot. You are my first love._

  * \--



John still kept coming to school despite his injury. His extended academic lessons are still continuing with Sherlock every night. John cannot waste time, that’s for sure. It’s because the exam’s in two weeks’ time. He also gave tutoring lessons to Greg, who despite abhorring the idea, he can’t deny the fact that he needed to pass to enter the Metropolitan Police Academy.

A week passed and John was fully healed. It was Saturday when Mrs. Hudson left the premises of 221 for a visit in a county. The two boys were left in charge of the whole place.

John knew that Sherlock was not the outgoing type of person. If possible, he can sulk in the sofa for God knows how long. He also needed to pay an extra time to study, so he decided not to leave the flat.

_Wait. This means that we’re the only people left in this house?!_

John doesn’t have a choice. He needs to do the things Mrs. Hudson does for them. As Sherlock was on the kitchen doing yet another experiment, John told him, “I’ll cook for dinner. I’ll see what I can find on Mrs. Hudson’s fridge.” As usual Sherlock didn’t mind.

When John went to Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen place, he found some ingredients for a chicken stew. Granted that he does not have any prior knowledge and experience on cooking gourmet meals (because damn, his only food intake were in a form of takeaways or preserved meals), he wanted to learn. He also did not give Sherlock a proper thank you gift, so this appears to be it. He searched a recipe guide on the internet, and prepared everything that is needed. With sheer determination, John started cooking.

Fifteen minutes passed, the genius upstairs hurriedly walked down the stairs and into the kitchen when he smelled something _burning_. Truthfully, there was, with a certain John Watson panicking on how to undo the damage he caused. Luckily, the fire was turned off before anything reckless happened.

“What the hell were you doing, idiot?!” Sherlock shouted.

“Trying to cook dinner, as I’ve said earlier, if you did listen.”

“We were left to take care of the building, not to burn it!”

“Says the man who burns pungent chemicals every now and then.” John frowned.

“Move.”

As John moved out of Sherlock’s path, the genius started to grab the knife and continued chopping some of the vegetables John started earlier. He walked past John, who decided to get himself comfortable sitting on the dining table.

_I was the one who should be doing this for you, not the other way around._

 Sherlock walked back and forth, gracefully chopping, stirring, and putting condiments on a now boiling hot casserole. John didn’t mind that the time has passed and after 30 minutes, Sherlock told him, “Get the plates and utensils.”

And when Sherlock served the dish, it looked so delicious. John wanted to drool at the sight, but he knows Sherlock will just be pissed off (and maybe won’t even give him a bite). When they were now seated on their usual places, John immediately got his share and when he took a bite _damn_ it is freaking delicious! He bit, and chewed and swallowed, clearly enjoying Sherlock’s cooking.

“I didn’t know… you… know how… to cook…” John said between bites.

“Clearly you do not know anything about me.” Sherlock replied, still elegantly using his knife and fork. “And please stop talking when you’re eating. It dishonors the food.”

John didn’t pay him attention. He’s used to this attitude, but he also wished he could be used to this kind of meal everyday.

  * \--



When the night fell, Sherlock went to his room earlier than usual. When John did as well, he remembered his Chemistry set to be passed on Monday. Clearly, he won’t have enough time to do a three-page set. And Sherlock was now on his room, which means he does not want to be disturbed.

Finally John decided. _Fuck it! I’m gonna take a peek on his problem set._

John knew Sherlock’s habit of not locking his door. So he tip-toed his way to the genius’ room and carefully minimized the creaking of the door he is opening. Indeed, the lights were off, and John can see a figure resting on the bed. Carefully and slowly, he walked the floors of the room and towards his study table. Accidentally, John kicked Sherlock’s chair and actually panicked.

On the bed where Sherlock lay, he opened one eye, aware of John’s presence. _What the hell is he doing?_

John, still fixated on finding Sherlock’s Chemistry set, went on the bedside table, only to find out it was there. He grabbed it at once, but then a strong hand took hold of him as well.

“Sh-Sherlock…”

Sherlock forcefully pinned John on the bed and looked at him. “Why are you here?”

“N-nothing. I-I was… just checking on…”

“Liar.”

“Really… Sherlock…” The grip is now getting stronger.

“Do you want this? I’ll make sure I’ll make it less… embarrassing for you.” Sherlock’s face is now close on John’s neck.

“W-wait! I know I told you I liked you and I moved into your flat and seriously I still do, but I want to do this slowly and maybe wholesome…” John’s nervous and whacked out words were cut off by a giggle made by Sherlock.

“Wholesome?” Sherlock mused. He let go of John. “I won’t do anything of that to you if that’s what you’re thinking!”

“What the fuck Sherlock?!”

Sherlock only replied a laugh. John angrily walked towards the door and closed it. Sherlock on the other hand, picked the fallen Chemistry set on the floor.

“Pity. I would even like to formally lend you my set as an apology.” He said slyly.

Suddenly, his door burst open, with a grinning John standing in front of him. “Good! Because I also want your help in copying these notes!”

Sherlock’s smirk was now converted into a face of annoyance. _He turned the tables on me._

Now they are back on their usual study place: the kitchen. Sherlock just sit there, while John muttered some words like “oohh”, “I see”, and “I get it”.

“Is this right?” John showed Sherlock the answers. When Sherlock checked, he exclaimed, “What did you do? Where was your formula?”

“Formula for what?”

Sherlock  slammed a notebook on John’s head.

“Again.”

_Why am I being so hyped up with all of this?_


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of the lines here (especially in the lower paragraphs) are from the anime itself. i just altered it to fit the character perspectives.

As another Monday landed into the shores of 221B, the lessons taught by Sherlock were growing a lot more difficult for John. But determined to rise even just at the end of the top 50 for this year’s college qualifying exam, John would do anything.

Tonight’s lesson will be mathematics, so it would take a lot of effort for John to catch things up. He abhorred Math so much. For Sherlock, it would take a lot of patience.

As the clock struck 8, John brought his study materials along with a box of his personal favorite tea to the usual place: the kitchen table. _This will be a long night._

To the blonde man’s surprise, the table was clean without Sherlock’s usual shenanigans: no microscope, no test tubes, and no samples. What’s more is that Sherlock is already sitting there, with his hands folded and were resting at the bottom of his chin, like a praying mantis waiting for its prey to strike.

“You’re already here.” John wanted the statement to be question, but he thought he might receive another clever verbal beating from his flatmate. He then proceeded to the stove and boiled hot water after leaving his things on the table. Leaning on the counter he added, “No experiments tonight?”

“None.” Sherlock replied, his eyes still closed, maintaining that mysterious position.

“Why is that so?”

“I’m cataloging information. In my mind palace. Don’t disturb.”

The kettle sung its designated melody. John turned to it immediately and prepared two cups. As he added the bag, the gracious smell of honey started to linger around the flat’s atmosphere. When he placed the cups on the table, Sherlock finally opened his eyes.

“You’re back?” John asked as he pulled a chair beside the genius and sat on it. “Welcome home.” He then pushed a cup towards Sherlock. Finally, the taller man shifted position, wafting the aroma emitted by a precious cup in his presence. He lifted it and finally took a sip.

“Please refrain from disturbing me when I am in my mind palace.”

“What’s that about anyway?”

“A memory technique achievable by geniuses like me.”

“Show-off.”

“You pulled me out of my tour. I suppose we must get on what you wish to do to avoid wasting my precious time.”

“Of course.”

John gave Sherlock a piece of paper when the latter said, “We’ll do algorithms. Study your notes while I make a questionnaire."

  * \--



John wished he could talk to Sherlock about non-academic things. But that would beat the purpose of him blackmailing his intelligent flat mate. He must be contented with small-scaled discussions with him.

Time was a stranger in 221B. None of the boys knew how deep the night went. It was ten past twelve and John was confused on a certain item.

“Sherlock, how did…”

But John’s words vanished into the air as his eyes lavished the sight in front of him. Sherlock Holmes, leaning on the table, arms spread wide, sleeping soundly. If Sherlock did hate sleeping, how can he look like this: this man is fragile, elegant, and precious. A man so unlikely with the Sherlock John used to interact with every single day. He can’t help but to stare at his beautiful flat mate, like a child bewildered by seeing the stars in the sky.

_Is that cheek smooth to brush with my fingertips? Are those eyebrows soft? Is that forehead warm enough to lean on? Are those lips allowed for me to kiss?_

_Will you even let me touch you?_

The cups of tea were left cold on the table, with John’s half-filled and Sherlock’s empty. John still continued to marvel, as he was also drifting into sleep.

  * \--



“I want to be a Yarder!” Greg screamed as he kicked a school-owned soccer ball towards John.

“This again Greg?” John received the ball on his right foot. _Scream all you want. We’re in the field anyway._

“I need to get high marks, even just on Language! A high grade might land me the opportunity!”

“So study, git.” John picked up the ball and started tossing it using his chest.

“So how are your study sessions with Holmes by the way?”

“Truth be told, they are difficult like hell, add up the tutor’s mood swings. But I do learn a lot.” John sighed. Suddenly an idea sparked on John’s brilliant mind, as he did not mind the landing of the ball.

“Greg, come home with me tonight.” He said bluntly.

Greg suddenly felt alarmed, “Look mate, you’re my friend, not my secret lover!”

“You’ll come with me not as a secret lover, but a fellow _classmate_.” He managed to wink.

  * \--



Sherlock’s grip on his leather bag loosened, dropping it on the floor on the sight in front of him. “What is a stranger doing in my house?!”

“He’s not a stranger, he is my bestfriend.” John’s intent to fight for Greg to stay was strong. Meanwhile, Greg was just sitting on the couch, apparently intimidated upon the genius’ arrival. “Sherlock, this is Greg Lestrade. You know him, Greg…”

“Hi. Thanks for letting me in.” Greg offered his hand for a shake, which was took by Sherlock, much to his surprise, the look of disgust evident on the other man’s face though.

“Since I reserved to learn Language for three consecutive nights, I want Greg to join in, to increase his chances of getting a good grade for the exam.” John announced, his words directed to Sherlock.

“This is a breach of our agreement!” Sherlock exclaimed.

“It’s just for a few days!” John spat back.

“H-hey guys. Calm down.” Greg went in between them. He motioned John to back off a bit and turned toward Sherlock. “Please, Holmes. I just want to get a nice value for Language. It’s my only ticket to Scotland Yard. If I had a choice, I won’t be going to you, but as you can see, there isn’t.”

“For three days. No more, no less.” It was now Sherlock’s turn to sigh. Picking up his bag, he strode towards his room. John grinned at Greg, an indication that it was a success for both of them. Before Sherlock opened his door, he added, “Nice choice, future Detective Inspector.”

Greg was left in disbelief. “He knew my dream job.”

“Get used to it. You’ll have three days to experience this crap.” John said, as he sank onto the couch.

  * \--



Greg was apparently not that stupid, much as to John’s observation. His best friend was brilliant, he just chooses the instances he uses his little brain. He listened intently into Sherlock’s discussions, and picked up the lessons at a fast paced. John can’t help but to feel proud for his mate.

_You’ll gonna be an awesome Yarder, Greg._

For his last day of review, and only five days left for the exam, Greg brought a whole box of pizza for the Baker Street boys. To John’s surprise, Sherlock ate a slice, but nothing more.

At 11 PM, Greg bid his farewell to the boys, again extending his hand to Sherlock. “Thanks again for everything Holmes.”

“You got it easily, unlike _others._ ” Sherlock glared at John, who was at the kitchen preparing coffee. As John walked back to serve it, he saw Greg preparing to leave.

“Not gonna stay for coffee, mate?” The blonde asked, as he handed Sherlock his share of coffee.

“I’ve extended my stay, John. Thanks again Holmes. I’ve learned a lot.”

“Sherlock, please. Good luck and good night Greg.” The genius said, smiling.

As Greg went on, John told Sherlock, “I’ll just see him through.”

Sherlock took a sip of his coffee, as he went to the window and saw Greg outside waving goodbyes and leaving their place.

When John returned, he found Sherlock by the window pane, eyes fixated outside. As he locked the door, he heard him say, “Why do you ordinary people desperately want to go to a university?”

“What’s that again?” John was confused and apparently surprised. This is another circumstance that Sherlock opened a conversation with him.

“You can earn a lot by doing a mediocre job. It’s not like England’s a third world country.”

“It’s not just about the job Sherlock.”

“And how about you? Why do you want to go to college anyway?”

“Why? To study and make friends, and such.”

“You’re going to exert that much effort just to study something you won’t understand?”

“Well, I am, but…”

“I just can’t understand why everyone wants to get into college so badly.”

“Well, you wouldn’t understand our feelings since you’re Sherlock Holmes, the one who’d naturally get into the Imperial College or Oxford.”

“I’m not thinking of going to college.”

John yelped in surprise. Sherlock added, “Besides, why is there a need to go in the first place?”

“Well, it’s to study for what you want to do in the future.”

“So, what do you want to be?”

“Well, I’m still torn if I’m gonna get a pre-med undergraduate or proceed a military career. I still can’t choose.”

“Right?” Sherlock walked past through John, the cup still on his hands.

“But isn’t that why we go search for it? You might find what you want to spend your entire life doing while you’re there.”

“You really are amazing.” Sherlock turned once again to face John.

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking this for a while, but how are you able to try so hard?”

“No, I don’t try that hard.”

“And yet, it’s impressive that you still can’t do it.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“I’m sort of jealous.” Sherlock arrived on his door. “I’m going to bed.”

“You shouldn’t keep that brain of yours only for yourself, Sherlock.”

“The scale of this conversation got big.” He opened it and before he continued to enter, he spoke "And for the record, I liked that tea of yours, more than this coffee, _John_.”

John was left standing on the living room, looking at the kitchen table filled with messy study materials.

_I guess geniuses do have their own worries._

_Wait, did he just call me by my first name?!_


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello to my precious readers! 
> 
> to further improve this story, i would like to request to you a thing about volunteering on doing a fanart for me, (maybe for free)? I really don't know how this system works
> 
> if you could adhere to my request, please leave a message or on my ask box: the221b-consultingblogger.tumblr.com/ask thanks guys!

John was carefully scribbling his notes, scratching one side of his forehead with the pen he is holding. His eyes were fixated on solving a math problem he had endured for God knows how long. Suddenly he felt a hot breath in his earlobe and he immediately froze. The source of the exhaled air spoke to him, “You’re taking too long, _John._ ”

“O-Of course. I-I need to… a-answer this.” The smaller man was startled at first, but felt a rush of his blood towards his cheeks and an unfamiliar feeling of… arousal. Why? Because it was just _Sherlock_ that whispered in his ear.

“But are you willing to make me wait that long?” Sherlock took the papers away from John and threw them in the air.

“B-But y-you were the one w-who…” John’s confused tone was replaced by a moan when Sherlock attacked his neck and lavished it with kisses. Then a lick on his jaw followed, the blonde man’s breathing now becoming erratic. As the genius inserted his hand under John’s shirt, the track of his touch lead down to his abdomen, earning an almost yelping sound from John.

“You want this John? Fine, I’ll give it to you.” Sherlock smirked as his hands---

*BEEP *BEEP* “BEEP*

John Watson almost fell from his bed when his alarm screamed at its might. “F-freaking…” he blurted out, but was more distracted by his aching member needed to be touched, right here, right now.

_What the hell, John Watson?!_

What choice does he have but to satisfy a _horny_ teenager need. Especially when you’re thinking about your _flatmate_ in these horrible times.

  * \--



As John took his bag and prepared leaving the room, he took a look on his desk calendar. _One week to go._ Seven days before the college qualifying exam and John felt ready, yet a pang of nervousness and anxiety still lurked around him. Opening his bottom left drawer, he saw Sherlock’s childhood picture, the one he used to _blackmail_ Sherlock into doing something against his free will. John smiled. How many days have passed them? Two months? Two months of interaction John longed for almost four years. Yet he still feels discontented, well apart from being hated by his first love, they can’t even stay as friends.

_After all of this, what will become of us?_

Erasing the horrid thought, John let his mind focus at the task on hand: to do his normal daily routine without having any troubles until he comes back. A flight down the stairs, waffles and tea with Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson, then a walk to the school, getting through his boring classes, chatting with Greg, walking back, then dinner, then study, and sleep.

But his plans changed when a gray Audi pulled over the school’s entrance as soon as he waved goodbye to Greg. When the car parked, a woman in stylish outfit went out and invaded John’s personal space. She was beautiful, long wavy hair, and that red lipstick would entice every man who saw her. She was on his phone hovering on something when she spoke, “Mr. John Watson?”

“Y-yes?”

“Get in.”

“W-What?”

John wanted to push more, but he was pushed by the woman towards the car. It was his fault he let her guard down around this _beautiful_ creature. So the consequence for him was his surrender, and entered the car.

As he sat down, a man was staring at the other window’s side. He was in a tailored suit. A luxurious ring in evident on his right pointing finger. He sat cross-legged, carrying an umbrella as if it was for support. As the engine revved and the car picked up its speed, a deafening silence shouted inside the vehicle.

“E-excuse me?” Was all John could say.

“Oh.” The stranger said, as if it was just that instant that he recognized John entered. “Pardon me. I’m thinking of rather _tedious_ activities. I do not suppose we have formally met, though I know a lot of you.”

“Who are you exactly?” John’s brow raised in question.

“An interested party. Though I assume that you have put my gift in good use, Mr. John Hamish Watson.”

“Gift? I didn’t receive anything from you. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“The document which contained a rather _ridiculous_ photo of a boy in a girl’s dress, need not to remind you?”

“You were the one who sent that?”

“Funny, isn't it? On how Sherlock used to be that innocent-looking.”

“And who is Sherlock to you?”

As they approached Baker Street, Sherlock’s vehicle was also parked outside. The car John was in, as well as this mysterious man parked alongside Sherlock’s car. John took the liberty of observing. The busy street was cleared of traffic. There were no blaring horns or cars passing by. Just some cars parked and cabs passing swiftly.

The window of the other car went down, revealing Sherlock as the passenger inside. He was looking straight ahead. The window of his car also went down. The stranger John made interactions with earlier spoke, “When will you try to pick my calls?”

John merely observed. Sherlock did not flinch a little bit. “I prefer to text.”

“Reasons, Sherlock. I thought you were improving in it.”

“And what is the reason you have my _flatmate_ in your custody?”

“I merely borrowed him for a friendly conversation.”

“Yet you had Anthea push him inside your car, evidenced by his disheveled undershirt and blazer which is not of his usual appearance.”

“You know you can’t impress me with that deflection.”

“Do amuse me, _Mycroft_.”

“As I’ve said I already took him in for a chat. No need to get so overprotective.”

“I do not care about him. Do what you want with him.”

“Oh no, he’s all yours. Glad that we had a chance to talk, _brother mine._ ”

“As much at it pleases you, it does not to me.”

Sherlock stood up and left the car, as he paced inside the flat.

The man who was with John pushed a button and his window lifted up. As he turned back to the smaller man, he saw a rather confused face but chose not to meddle with the situation.

“Sorry…” he offered his hand. “I am Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s brother.”

  * \--



“So you’ve met with the _Iceman_?” Sherlock said soon as John entered the flat.

“Y-yeah. Didn’t see that coming though.” John rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, clearly still stressed by what happened. “Do you not like him?” he decided to be blunt about him.

“No. I resent him.”

“I didn’t know he sent that photo of you.”

“He enjoys controlling me, for his amusement. What’s done is done.” Sherlock marched to his room, leaving John unanswered with a lot of questions.

  * \--



Before going downstairs for dinner, John stayed at the living room waiting for Sherlock to come out. When he finally did, he cornered the taller man for a conversation.

“What?” an annoyed tone reached him.

“Well, I kind of understood what you meant by your brother controlling you. I had a sister like that too, in a much different manner, of course.”

“Point being?”

John handed him the photograph. Sherlock just stared at it.

“Look…” John sighed. “I hate that I was used as a tool for your brother to control you Sherlock. If I knew, I wouldn’t use it to blackmail you. So I’m giving this back to you. And the tutoring lessons can stop. I’ve already learned a lot from you. I don’t want to cause more… inconvenience, let alone being used by your brother to torment you.”

Sherlock was stunned, and John took his hand and made him grasp the photo.

“I’ll go ahead.” John said, leaving Sherlock, once again, alone, and still lost.

  * \--



John and Sherlock never talked about anything upon dinner. Although their landlady was rather up for a chat, the boys of 221B did not speak to each other at all.

When John went back to his room, he wanted to bang his head onto the wall. He knew that the second he gave Sherlock back his photo, he also severed the only moments that he and the genius were alone together. Not to factor the more difficult lessons he must try to understand before the day of the exam comes.

_Ah, fuck it! I can do this on my own._

When he prepared his study materials on his desk, he was reminded about his tea. He put it on the kitchen counter so that it will convenient for their consumption. Now that the tutoring is over, it’s also time to retrieve his tea.

As he walked to the kitchen, he found Sherlock on the table, sitting on his usual chair. His headband tucked above his head. He sat cross legged, his fingers tapping on the table. When he heard John’s footsteps, he looked up.

“Sherlock, what are you doing here?”

“Still wasting my precious time? Where are your things?”

“I told you I can-“

“Retrieve your things before you start boiling the kettle. I want my tea served immediately.”

John just stared at Sherlock. Sherlock glanced back.

“Why are you still standing there? Move, soldier. We still haven’t tackled History.”

John did not know how to feel. What he does know is how to follow orders.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short chapter so that it won't leave you hanging.
> 
> Shoutout to my best friend vyemadoo for being the best mistake-finder in the world!

Three days. Three days until everything John worked hard for will be put to test. Those tedious days, barely getting enough sleep in exchange for extra lessons will almost come to an end. And like John also feared, his connection with Sherlock Holmes will soon be severed. But he cannot afford of thinking about unnecessary things that might distract him from his goal, which is getting his name included in the top 50 students for the qualifying exams.

Sherlock told him that for the next two days, including now, he will have to have a quick review of everything they have learned so far. From the sciences to history and language, everything must be scanned by John’s eyes and must be registered by his brain. It would be a triumph for an _idiot_ such as John, he says. Doing so made John feel like watching Doctor Who every Saturday for how many months, and then end up binge-watching it after it has been available for online streaming.

“How about tomorrow night, Sherlock? What should I do?” John asked, taking a break from his energy-consuming review.

“Nothing academic-related. Your brain, however small that is, also needs to rest.”

“It’s not small!” John argued.

“Well, we’ll see about that.”

  * \--



“Hey Sherlock, what caused this chemical reaction again?”

“A catalytic substance called an enzyme. I’ve repeated this like three times now!”

“Sorry. What does it do again?”

“This chemical reaction of this particular substance is in its most stable form. Upon the addition of an enzyme, the substance will be unstable, creating a reaction which will lead to a change to the substance itself.”

“So it causes chaos to a peaceful reaction?”

“If that’s how your funny little brain puts it, then yes.”

“A substance that causes turmoil to a silent reaction, making it change… That's interesting.”

“Shut up. You still have Physics after that.”

  * \---



“John darling, don’t forget your lunch! And good luck for your exams today.” Mrs. Hudson said, giving John his another set of homemade lunch.

“Thanks Mrs. H. So Sherlock took off earlier, again?” He asked, putting the lunch box inside his bag.

“Oh no. His car is still outside.”

“Is that so? Well, I’m better off too.”

John wondered what Sherlock might be waiting for. Walking by the front door he saw Sherlock’s figure just down the small stairwell entrance, and heard him say, “You don’t have to remind everytime. Sod off.” Then turned his phone off. Turning over his back, he saw his blonde flat mate, ready to go.

“Why are you still here? I thought you left early.” John said, giving a rather puzzled look to Sherlock.

“Get in. We’re late.” Sherlock replied, walking briskly towards then inside the car.

“What…” But John was ushered by Sherlock’s usual escorts.

This is the second time John afforded the luxury of riding Sherlock’s vehicle. The first was when he was injured. Sherlock never asked him if he was okay after the incident. John thought he was just being passive, although grateful that he was saved by a long and possibly disastrous travel back at the flat. This is the second, but both of them are well. Well, except John because fuck, he was nervous.

They walked the corridors together and up to the stairs. Class A’s room is situated near the stairs while Class F is on the farthest end. Before they reached the top of the staircase, John wanted to say a few words to Sherlock.

_I wanted to say ‘thanks’ but he doesn’t like me talking to him at school grounds. He’ll ignore me anyway._

Reaching the top of the floor, Sherlock walked towards the entrance of his classroom, and John readied himself for a fast-paced walk. As Sherlock opened the door, John whispered as he walked past his back. “Thanks.”

“Good luck.” A deep baritone voice muttered.

Then John heard the door close. He turned his back but Sherlock was already gone. He wasn’t sure if he heard it right, but he wanted it to be real, at least for that moment.

Feeling confident yet nervous, John walked past by Greg’s desk, who is almost in the process of vomiting. “Greg are you alright?”

“God, John! I don’t know! I just want this to end.”

“Me too.” John sat on his chair. “Just remember anything you learned from Sherlock. I’m sure you won’t get a grade of zero.”

John’s words did not totally calmed Greg. Who was he to advise, when he himself was not sure of everything?

The door opened once again and it was the homeroom teacher, bringing a bunch of papers. The judgment day has arrived, and there is no turning back.

The teacher distributed the paper to each and every one of them. History was the first subject to be taken. As John got his, he almost muttered an inaudible prayer. Looking at it slowly, he was flabbergasted. He continued reading until the bottom of the page and was still amazed.

_Everything in here was covered by my review!_

John confidently held his pencil on his right hand and started answering.

The time ticked. History, Language, Physics, Mathematics, Chemistry, each one of them was handled by John adequately. He had some time remembering the difficult ones, but he managed to not leave any item blank.

_It’s like Sherlock purposely designed this test for me!_

*DING DONG!*

After the whole day of looking down at the paper, John finally had the chance to stretch his stressed neck. He handled everything perfectly in his own way. He looked at Greg, who is now slumped at his desk. Walking towards him, he said, “Come on mate. Arcade?”

“Hell yes.”


	16. Chapter 16

The results are in. Students scrambled on the bulletin board hanged along the hallway. John cannot contain himself. His nervousness was not like he has ever felt before. It’s like being led to his own execution.

Pacing his eyes on the top of the paper, he saw it. The letters that made up the name flooded him with relief.

  1. _Holmes, William Sherlock S.-100%_



_He’s still on top. And there’s a William before Sherlock?!_

  * \--



“Hey, Holmes! Where are you going?!” A voice caught Sherlock’s attention as he opened the classroom door and strode outside.

“Not your business, Wilkes.” The man in the name of Sebastian Wilkes ran towards him. Sherlock did not mind his walking companion. From his distance, he can see a lot of commotion in the hallway. Of course, the results came out.

“Are you going to see the results? You’ve never done that before!” Sebastian shouted at him in a near distance. _Imbecile_ , he thought.

He walked to the bulletin board and stood on a distance, not minding his talkative companion saying about rubbish things. His gaze was looking straight below the paper posted.

“Hey, where are you looking at? Your name’s at the top. That’s the wrong place to look!” Sebastian reminded Sherlock. Again, the genius did not mind him.

  * \--



As John found his way out of the flock of people, he saw his flatmate leaning by a post near the window. He rushed to him, forgetting one of Sherlock’s many rules.

“Sherlock! Congratulations! Still number one, mate.” He looked at Sherlock with genuine happiness, eyes gleaming as he caught Sherlock’s one hand on his own.

“Of course. That’s the first time I’ve studied a lot, no thanks to you.” Sherlock said in a deep, plain voice. “Congratulations as well. This will be the first and the last time you’ll talk to me at school.” Sherlock walked out.

John was left in void. Did he hear him right? He was congratulated by the great Sherlock Holmes? What did he do? Oh right, the exams. Wait. Why did Sherlock congratulate him? John went back to the sea of people, his feelings unknown. His eyes scanned. Scanning for what?

_Your name, idiot!_

Right his name. Reaching the end of the paper and beginning to question Sherlock’s words, he finally saw it!

  1. _Watson, J.H.- 62%_



_I’m at 49 th… I passed… John fucking Watson PASSED!_

The surging feeling John felt was indescribable! A mixture of utter happiness, genuine disbelief, and longing pride lurked his insides. His eyes went back looking for Sherlock’s name.

_1\. Holmes, William Sherlock S.-100%_

_49\. Watson, J.H.- 62%_

_He may be on top and I’m in the bottom. Nevertheless, our names are on the same paper for the first time._

  * \--



“So how does it feel to become the Sherlock Holmes of Class F?” Greg teased his bestfriend who just finished having his first slurp of soda from the vending machine near the arcade where they came from.

“Overwhelming, really.” John said humbly.

“Oh stop being so humble, Watson! I’ve never even shut up my mouth about _barely_ passing my Language test.” Greg said, trying to remember the awesome feeling of passing his Language, as if he aced the whole test.

A tickle behind John made him nearly jump in surprise. As he looked back, the laughter in James Sholto’s face is priceless. “Hey nerds, Congrats on your exams!”

Greg wrapped his one arm of John’s neck. “Hey James, I passed my Language! And this guys here made it to the top 50! He’s at 49!”

“Woah! Really! That’s awesome guys! I’ll treat you to lunch to celebrate!”

“Yahoo!” Greg jumped in euphoria. John looked very excited.

The three boys started walking. Greg was hovering at his phone, so John and James were left having a conversation.

“You guys seemed to work hard, huh? I’ve never heard from both of you since the sports festival. And how’s the leg, John?”

“It’s good. The doctor said it’s nothing critical. Although I would have been suffering from swelling if Sherlock did not immediately brought me to the clinic.”

James looked down, as if avoiding recalling those moments of shame. He would’ve brought John straight to the hospital, but that tall, ridiculously curly-haired man stepped in the way, acting as if the superhero in that scene. “So you did great on your studies because of that?”

“Yeah.” John blushed. “Sherlock was also helping me study you know. So I learned a lot. He even congratulated me. Of course he was still at the top, what do you expect? But being listed on the same paper is awesome enough!”

 _Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock._ In just a matter of minutes, James hated hearing the name! Why did he even come to John’s life anyway? So that’s gonna be it, talking about this masterful genius every time they go out?

“You know, you should’ve come to me for help. I know my senior high school subjects too.” James said whisperingly.

“What’s that James?” John shot him a puzzled look.

“Nothing. Let’s try this shop? Heard they have nice Japanese food.”

“Finally!” Greg interjected, as the three of them entered the restaurant.

  * \--



John came home with his stomach full. All of them loved the Japanese food they ate back at the mall. He wonders when he can bring Sherlock there, maybe for a treat. As he paced his way up to the stairs, no one was there.

_Sherlock should be home by now._

At 8 PM, John was helping Mrs. Hudson wash the dishes. He told her about the exam results, and Mrs. Hudson ensured him a celebration this Friday. John was so excited, but the fact that Sherlock still did not come home made John worried.

By 9 PM, John was dozing off on his bed when he heard the front door open. He was about to get up, but the person responsible for the noises outside his room went immediately to the other room.

_Maybe Sherlock’s not in the mood tonight. I’ll talk to him tomorrow._

  * \--



“Watson! Come with me, _now!_ ”

John was sitting on his desk, eating the lunch Mrs. Hudson packed for him. He thought Sherlock left earlier than him again, so he did not mind. But his deep, loud voice, with a hint of anger flushed the whole Class F especially John, who was the subject of the raging statement. Hurriedly, John went towards Sherlock. The taller man gripped his wrist hard. _Shit, he’s angry, but why?_ John thought.

As they paced the bulletin board where the exam results were posted, Sherlock pointed to it, saying, “What’s the meaning of this?!”

John looked at the direction where Sherlock pointed at. The once clear glass was now decorated by spray paint, accompanied with words that struck horror to John.

_Holmes and Watson, the new gay couple!_

_The gay geniuses of Class A and F!_

John stared at the words with utter disbelief. So that was why when he entered the school grounds, most of the people he passed by murmured words he cannot hear, whispering to each other inaudible chatters. This was it.

“I… I didn’t tell them anything! I swear. I… I’ll make this clear… I promise…”

Sherlock’s hands fisted on the words John uttered. “Stop it! Just… DON’T MESS WITH MY LIFE ANYMORE!”

Sherlock turned away from John, whose eyes are now pooling with tears. As the distance between them got larger, John wanted to shout at him, to explain, to say that he did not do anything in this matter.

But no words were said. Nothing.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response I am receiving for this fic is truly unbelievable! Thanks so much to everyone who gave such time to read the imaginings of my brain. To the people who leave comments which I love to interact with, to those who bothered to open the link of this work, to the people who bookmarked and still anticipating for the next chapters, to the people who "kudosED", THANK YOU ALL! Rest assured I will write more to satisfy your imaginations.
> 
> Special thanks to my brother spncassbutt (spncassbutt.tumblr.com) for the "free" fanarts and my wonderful and awesomest (nope not a word) story fixer vyemadoo (odetoyoghurts.tumblr.com). I'll treat the both of you if I have enough money! Hwehwe!!!
> 
> Thanks guys! Love you all!

_DON’T MESS WITH MY LIFE ANYMORE!_

John couldn’t keep himself sane. He felt strangely alone inside the flat. That same night, Sherlock did not come home again. He knew from Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock went to Mycroft’s, probably because of a family matter, although he did not specify it. John translated it at Sherlock avoiding him, not wanting to see the face of the person that humiliated him.

John almost punched Greg when he asked about the matter. Greg swore he didn’t tell anybody. He had a great respect for Sherlock and as he said, “For God’s sake John, he was the reason I passed the test. Why would I do that?!” He had a point, and he knew Greg. He may be a blabbermouth, but he never broke a man’s oath.

Whoever made this ruckus made John feel like falling into an endless pit. The friendship he established with Sherlock was not traditional, but he made friends with him. That’s important. And now it’s broken, like delicate glass shattered into small pieces.

At Wednesday, as John walked by the hallway, he saw Sherlock with some Class A students discussing about something. Sherlock smirked as the others laughed. Getting a glimpse at John made that small happiness fade away. John was hurt. Really hurt.

By night, Sherlock came back to 221B. But he never once talked to John, let alone took a look at him. Sherlock pretended like John was not there at all, like an unwanted insect. John did not mind him, but internally, he wanted to get out of this misery.

John went back into his room. He opened his drawer and found an envelope, which inscribed the words: _To: Mr. Sherlock Holmes._ John slumped to bed, staring at the letter.

_The first letter that I’ve wrote… wasn’t even read. I still can’t believe that I’m affected by his strong words._

_“Get in.”_

_“Still wasting my precious time?”_

_“Move, soldier.”_

_I still can’t believe that I’m in love with that cold-hearted bully. Am I a masochist?_

_“Good luck.”_

_“Congratulations as well.”_

_He’s so near, yet…_

John was driven into a sleep that he wished he wouldn’t wake.

  * \--



“William Sherlock Scott Holmes! Get John down here now!” Mrs. Hudson shouted, although at Sherlock’s viewpoint, she just adjusted the volume of her tone.

“You have legs. Do it.” He replied.

“I know you haven’t eaten for days young man, and I know you’re starving! You won’t get any of this meals unless you call your flatmate _now!_ ”

The landlady gave Sherlock no other choice but to follow. _Damn this old lady, how does she know that I need food. Tsk_. Sherlock stood up impassively and never bothered to knock when he reached John’s room.

“The old lady wanted you downstairs, so…”

Sherlock stopped talking when he saw a little figure curled up in the bed. He did not notice to himself that he was walking towards the room. He saw John’s peaceful face illuminated by the moonlight from outside his window. On the side was also an envelope, addressed to him. Curiosity will be the driving force that made Sherlock sit on the other side of the bed, carefully not waking John, and opened the letter. He started reading it.

  _Nice to meet you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I am John H. Watson from Class F. You don’t know who I am, right? But I know you. For three years, I admired you for your intelligence and coolness after you gave your entrance ceremony speech._

Sherlock briefly looked at the sleeping figure beside him, then resumed reading silently.

_I have no hope of being in the same class as you… so I write my feelings in this letter with all my heart. I know you have the intention of keeping your name, so I do not concern you with relationships between the same gender. This is just me, confessing unto you._

_Sherlock, I am in love with you._

  * \--



“And where’s John, Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson asked, with an irritated tone.

“Sleeping. Don’t want to disturb him.” Sherlock sat back on his chair.

“Hmm. Is that so? I’m gonna leave him his share of curry in case he wants some.”

Sherlock started eating. _God, I really am starving._

  * \--



“Okay John. You can bring your friends down at Speedy’s tonight. Whoever you invite is your choice, alright?” Mrs, Hudson said, touching both of John’s cheeks in delight.

“I will Mrs. H. Thank you very much.”

“If it’s for my _sons_ of course.”

John can’t help but to feel a bit comfortable. He never felt the warmth of his mother’s love. And it was great feeling actually. Whoever thought that he will find it at Baker Street?

The silence in 221B still lingered. Sherlock continued to avoid John. As much as it pains him, he would endure this until graduation. After all, he will leave Baker Street, which is a total loss for him. He wanted to stay, but Sherlock doesn’t want him. He’ll be the one to give way.

When dinner came, John invited Greg and James to Speedy’s. Greg came with him from school, while James will catch up earlier, as he was doing something before the invite came. As they found their table at Speedy’s, John figured Sherlock won’t even come to the dinner celebration.

Much to his surprise, Sherlock came along with Mrs. Hudson. He walked grumpily. John figured he was forced by the great landlady to come, or else there will be consequences. John laughed at the back of his mind, but mostly was relieved, glad even, that Sherlock came.

Sherlock sat at the cornermost chair, with Mrs. Hudson on his left. Greg sat opposite Sherlock, and reserved the seat next to him for James. John was on the edge of the table.

The topics of the dinner were diverse, from school to early childhood to if Greg did ever have a girlfriend. Greg’s mouth was full of stories, saying that he had in total of five girlfriends, all not serious. He even almost once had a relationship with a guy, which was also an interesting experience.

“And how about you John?” Mrs. Hudson said fondly. John nearly spit on his tea.

“I’ve had my fair share with girls.” John chuckled nervously.

“John Watson, you utter liar. You’ve always had a thing for Sherlock.” Greg, the king of interjection, spoke. John glanced nervously at Sherlock, who, thank God, did not even move an inch.

“That was too long ago. I don’t have them anymore.” John had no choice but to admit. The cat’s been out of the bag. And Mrs. Hudson was the only who _did not know_.

“That’s alright for you, isn’t it Sherlock? Another boy having a crush on you at all?” Mrs. Hudson turned to him.

“Not at all.” Sherlock hummed, sipping at his tea. John flinched as he heard the information coming directly from the guy he admired. “And is it true? That you don’t have feelings for me _anymore_?” he turned now to John who nervously met his stare.

“Yes, of course!” John said straight, although what his heart says is the exact opposite.

“Oh?” Sherlock bemused at him, putting down his cup on the table. He crossed his arms and started, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I am John H. Watson from Class F. You don’t know who I am, right? But I know you. For three years, I admired you for your intelligence and coolness after you gave your entrance ceremony speech. I have no hope of being in the same class as you… so I write my feelings in this letter with all my heart. I know you have the intention of keeping your name, so I do not concern you with relationships between the same gender. This is just me, confessing unto you. Sherlock, I am--”

Sherlock felt a pain in his cheek. He was concentrated at his speech and never noticed that John stood up, marched towards him, slapping him on his right side of his cheek. The aftermath left the patch of skin red and swollen, and the sight of John crying. Gasps were heard, though thankfully they came from their own table, and there were no other customers trying to enjoy the food. That would be much humiliating.

“You bastard! You read my letter!”

“It was addressed to me!”

“You didn’t have to memorize it!”

“I can’t help it if I memorize everything after reading it once!”

  * \--



James Sholto ran for some distance, from the convenience store where he purchased a red wine. He can’t wait to make John and Greg taste wine, but with discretion of course.

But to his awe, he arrived at Speedy’s with rather a messy setting. He can see the table where John and Greg are from outside through the glass. But Greg was in awful shock, so is the old woman who covered her mouth in her own hands, clearly in shock too. John was facing a tall man, whom he recognize was Sherlock, who also looked down in him, both in fury, but John, oh John, was crying.

James wanted to know what happened, so he bravely entered the café and broke a seemingly long silence since he got there. Going towards the table, he tapped John’s left shoulder.

“Good evening. I don’t think we have met. I am James Sholto, John and Greg’s friend. Is everything alright?” he tried to sound calm to neutralize the situation.

“J-James.” John almost stuttered, recognizing the touch, which immediately calmed him.

“John, if this man is bothering this celebration, maybe he should just go.” He looked towards Sherlock, who went back sitting on his chair. “Sir, I know you’re a genius, so you must know that you cause the distress in this place.” He said calmly to Sherlock, but there is a firm command on his words.”

“Is that your deduction Mr. Sholto?” Sherlock finally spoke to him.

“Of course. In these past few days, I assume that you are the cause of John’s stress. You’re torturing him about this so-called ‘feelings’ that you don’t even acknowledge.” He bluntly replied.

Sherlock stood up. “As courtesy, I will have my leave.” He walked past the stunned John. “And regarding your latest statement, I don’t know about that. People’s feelings can change. You may hate someone today, but might come to love that person tomorrow.” Walking towards the door, he added, “Please make yourself comfortable. The smores here lovely.” without looking back.

  * \--



Pacing outside the café, Sherlock saw a man in a bespoke suit and in an umbrella, leaning on 221’s door, which sparked an annoyance inside him.

“Step aside. I don’t want to do this, Mycroft.”

“Sentiment, brother mine. You’re falling victim to it.”

“Merely a play of words, dear brother. I assure you.” Sherlock put his right hand on the right pocket of his jeans.

“That’s not how I see it.” Mycroft lit a cigarette placed between his lip.

“If you won’t offer me a piece of that cigarette, then I believe there is no business here.”

Surprisingly, Mycroft offered his brother a stick. “Just this once Sherlock.” He then offered his lighter to the younger Holmes.

“Thank you.” Sherlock said as he entered his humble abode.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally! my writing spirit has descended upon me! i give you, another (short) chapter!

Back inside Speedy’s there was a lingering awkward silence as soon as Sherlock stepped outside the said café. It was James who broke it. “Crisis averted then. Here John.” He gave the wine in his hand to John. Surprisingly, John just looked at him.

“How exactly did you know about my ‘feelings’ towards Sherlock, James?” John shot him a questioning look, a hint of anger and confusion engulfed his tone.

“I… I just…”

“Tell me the truth James, or I swear to God I won’t see your face again! Are you the one responsible for the ruckus in the school?!”

James put the wine down the table. “That man is constantly breaking your heart John, yet you still linger around him like some unwanted martyr!”

“He is my flatmate, James! The person who helped me through my studies! He did not deserve that kind of treatment! He wants to preserve that name of his! And you made it look like I am responsible for his misery! What has gotten to that brain of yours?!”

“Let me explain, John…”

“No. I don’t want to talk to you.” To Mrs. Hudson, the blonde man changed his expression and as calm as he could he said, “I’m sorry Mrs. Hudson. This has gone far too bad. I take it that you can see yourself home?” The old woman nodded. “I just need to take a little steam off.” To Greg he said, “You! You’ll come with me.” Greg knew he will suffer consequences if he did not follow John, not to mention his surging anger. And John and Greg walked briskly out of the café. Meanwhile, James was left alone again, looking at a droplet of wine inside the bottle drip down.

As soon as John grabbed Greg, he put an arm around the other’s neck and said, “Now I sense you know something about this Lestrade. And I know you had a lot of histories on fake IDs and favors, so you will take me into a pub and I will drown myself in liquor. Do you understand?” His voice was so deep, Greg felt a sort of chill in his spine.

“Fine, John. I’ll take you. But you’ll pay.”

“Don’t care. I’ll drink to my heart’s content.”

  * \--



“Another shot please!” John shouted, a slur evident in his voice as he tapped on the bar counter hardly using his fists.

“Come on mate. You’ve had too*hiccup* much.” Greg whispered loudly in John’s ears.

“Piss off! And you still didn’t tell me about Sholto! Talk to me Lestrade!” John gripped Greg’s collar with a sustainable force as the waiter gave them another round.

“Honest!” Greg pleaded, raising his right hand like a scout speaking his honor. “I just saw him on my way to school, talking to some girls. Then I saw the graffiti on the board later that afternoon. That’s it, John!”

“Okay… *hiccup*. I… I… Fucking Sher… Sherlock won’t talk to me anymore! I’m like ‘whoosh’: thin air inside the flat!” John giggled as he imitated the sound of the wind. Greg slapped him in the face, but John’s cheek felt numb. Both of them continue to chuckle as they raised their shots and drank again.

  * \--



“I… I’m going up.” John managed without vomiting for the third time, as he and Greg fled the pub and found their way to Baker Street despite the zigzag road they just experienced.

“Just don’t try and *hiccup* seduce Holmes!” Greg said as he pushed John inside the door. “So long, fucker!”

John giggled as he slammed the door. His grogginess caused thuds in every step he took on the stairs. Finally reaching his flat, the door was unlocked, thank goodness. John stumbled on his way inside.

“Sherly… Sherlock Holmes, you bastard!” he said. The genius was holding his skull, sitting on his own sofa as he watched John’s grand clumsy entrance. “You dare to read my love letter in that fucking baritone voice and humiliate *hiccup* me. Then you leave me confused with *hiccup* your words. What the fuck are you, really?”

“Go to bed. You reek with alcohol. And you’re underage.”

“Fuck age and alcohol and fuck you!”

“Take care of yourself.” Sherlock stood up, his dressing gown moving fluidly as he left his seat, when John muttered words.

“I’m sorry.”

“Apologizing? For what?” Sherlock turned to John who was just standing there, head bowed down, like when they first met.

“It was James’ fault, but I still felt responsible. Sorry.”

Sherlock sighed. “I know. I deduced it the moment I saw him earlier. Mycroft took care of it. Nothing to apologize for.” Sherlock was about to turn away when he heard light sobs coming out from John.

“It’s that… I owe you so much, and that happened. I want to at least thank you for helping me and… that happened. I don’t like it… you ignoring me. I know you don’t like me like I like you. But I want us to be friends. And I hate it, being nothing to you… and…”

John’s speech was interrupted as he dashed towards the bathroom. The only sound Sherlock could hear was John’s vomiting, echoing throughout the whole comfort room. When John mustered up his remaining strength, he returned to where he stood and faced Sherlock once again.

“As I’ve said…” suddenly the drunken man collapsed on the floor. Sherlock palmed his forehead. He just looked at John with an annoyed face, who is now drooling on the floor.

  * \--



A loud ascend of steps was heard on 221B. “John fucking Watson!” Greg shouted. “You left your *hiccup* coat.” He said and opened the door without a single restraint.

“Shhh.” He heard from a figure that was on the couch. The lights were out and only the fireplace was lit. Greg’s eyes opened wild, as he replied, “Shhh” and put his pointing finger on his mouth. He put down the coat on the hanger, then left, his footsteps now calmer than earlier.  



	19. Chapter 19

John was on the sofa, scanning through his laptop. He stumbled upon a website with the headline: “10 Things to do to make him fall for you”. Looking around the flat to secure that no one is around, he opened the link. Indeed there were steps on how to do so, as John’s cheeks eventually blush on some of the items plastered on the screen. Suddenly, his laptop lid closed with a hard thud, revealing Sherlock’s beautiful face. His curls were wet with water with a towel rested on his head, and he was half naked. John can’t help but feel his cheeks going hot, both in surprise and admiration. Sherlock just gave him a plain look, with no emotions or so John would see.

 _Wait. W-What was the first step again?_ John tried to avoid Sherlock’s gaze. “Y-You showered?”

“Why is your face crimson red?” Sherlock asked, his eyes still not leaving John’s.

“I-I…”

“You know what, you’re always the one who talks about your feelings towards me. But do you know mine?”

“I-I just don’t assume. And you treat me like crap so-“

Then suddenly Sherlock launched himself towards John, landing his cupid-bow lips on the blonde’s. He can feel the warmth of the genius’ lips imprinted on his. Panic surged inside him; he does not know what to do, to pull away and question or to leave the man be. John chose to close his eyes and when he opened them back, darkness filled his vision. He was indeed in the sofa and his head ached like never before. Looking at the window, he realized it was still dawn.

_Once again, a dream. But it felt real, though._

He went back to sleep.

  * \--



“…for your certain future…”

“…clearly, you’ve known that I do not like…”

“…but it was of Father’s insistence…”

“…this again Mycroft?”

John woke from his slumber and rather disturbed by the noises he heard. He slowly opened his eyes, squinting them as the light from the window shot through his face. Grunting, he scanned the flat and almost jumped in shock when he saw Sherlock sitting on his single couch and opposing him is his _beloved_ brother, Mycroft. The two of them were in a middle conversation and when John moved, both of their attentions are on him.

“Ah, the fairytale princess is awake without your kiss, your Majesty.” Mycroft joked Sherlock who just put his cup of tea on the coffeetable.

“You can die in your own sleep, pitiful squire.” Sherlock shot back.

John fumbled on his feet. He felt a tang of distasteful element inside his mouth, and the head, oh it was the head that gave in. He looked rather disgraceful in front of the two Holmeses, so he rushed to the kitchen which was the only place in the flat near enough to hide himself.

As John boiled the once warmed kettle, he cannot help but to overhear the conversation in the living room.

“As I’ve said, you are to take the entrance exams of both the Imperial College and Oxford. Father wants you to choose either of the two, since it will be convenient to have talks with your stay once you enter college.”

“Fine. I do not intend to defy Father, even in the future.”

The kettle steamed off, like a train preparing to a stop. John turned off the stove, and continued to overhear.

“Knowing you Sherlock, there are twists and turns inside that brain of yours that tells you sometimes to disobey.”

“I will not. Medicine, Oxford or Imperial College, fine. Is that what you want to hear? Go.”

John cannot help but to agree with Mycroft. There’s something inside Sherlock sometimes that he skewers on his normal behavior. Like how he treated him like crap then help him, then ignore him and then talks to him again.

John can’t also erase the thought of being responsible for tainting Sherlock’s name at school. Even though James did it, he still felt guilty, knowing that he was used to humiliate Sherlock.

“I’ll make sure he’ll take the exams.” John blurted out as he emerged from the kitchen. In a matter of seconds, the disoriented man caught once again the attention of the Holmes brothers.

“Mr. Watson. Are you in a clear state of mind?” Mycroft asked, an eyebrow raised looking at him.

“I need to do something… to make it up to Sherlock. And this will be it, to make sure he arrives at his exam centers safely and take the necessary tests for his future.” John’s voice was determined.

“This is ridiculous, I mean…” Sherlock tried as protest but he was cut off by his brother’s words.

“That would be much reassuring, thank you, Mr…”

“John, please.”

“John. Thank you, and I entrust my brother in your hands.”

With that Mycroft stood up and left.

Sherlock’s fury was indescribable as John managed to get back in the kitchen and pour himself a cup of tea. As he still manages his headache, Sherlock shouted directly at his ears, “You didn’t have to do that!”

The ringing in his ears did not stop, and the pain in his temple felt worse. John mustered all control to answer back, “I did, and I must. You told me you did not have plans to go to college. I want you to change your mind.”

Sherlock looked at him intently. “Again, stop messing with my life!”

“Too late, Sherlock. You told me last night that people’s feelings can change. I intend you to change those null feelings of yours.” John said as he sat with a straight back.

“I just said that because of the situation!” Sherlock’s tone was strong, but he was clearly taken aback.

“I don’t care why you did it. I’ll see you through the center exams, and that’s final.”

John stood up and left Sherlock with the words, “Now if you don’t mind, I have a hangover to deal with.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just want you to know guys, ANYTHING WRITTEN REGARDING THE ENGLISH SCHOOL SYSTEM ARE PURELY FICTIONAL. These were just made to satisfy character perspectives. I do not have a pure and extent knowledge as to how England does their uni exams. 
> 
>  
> 
> BTW, NEW trailer (TV SPOT) for Doctor Strange is awesome! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xoxeCWpZyU asdfghjkl!

John stared at his calendar app on his phone. There will be no classes next week. This will be enough time for the seniors to think for themselves and choose the college of their liking. Most of the entrance exams for various universities will also happen next week. Luckily for John, his choice, which is Bart’s considers the results of the college qualifying test, so there will be no need to take another exam.

But that will be another matter for Sherlock. He will have to endure different sets of exams, both in the Imperial College and Oxford. Mycroft did mention that Sherlock will be taking medicine, like John would. Didn’t Sherlock tell him that he does not have any interest in medicine (unlike John who desperately, like DESPERATELY, wants to be a doctor)? Sherlock clearly told him as well that he does not want to go to college, because the world needs a lot more Sherlock Holmes than some mediocre John Watsons. But that would mean that they will be on the same field, right? If Sherlock would fail both exams, will there be a chance that he will go to Bart’s with him? They will still be classmates after high school! The thought made John smile. But that would be impossible, given that ridiculously amazing brain of his!

_Sherlock Holmes, you will not escape my sight this week!_

  * \--



Another Monday came, but a different from the usual one that the boys of Baker Street encounter. Sherlock was in his (expensive like crazy) coat. He was wearing an American suit that made him like a young, elite, and professional businessman, which for John is really a sight!

“Stop staring. It’ll give me bad luck.” Sherlock said, making John pout.

“Oh Sherlock, my boy! You look dashing! Where will you two go now?”

John, in his cargo jacket and ordinary shirt, which made him look like Sherlock’s servant, replied, “We’re heading to the Imperial College today, Mrs. H.”

Suddenly, Sherlock felt a tingle in his nose, and then he sneezed loudly.

“Sherlock, are you alright? That cold has been on since yesterday, right?” Mrs. Hudson patted his back.

“I’m alright.” Sherlock replied, rubbing his nose.

“Oh! Wait!” John exclaimed. “Wait a sec.” Then he rushed back inside their flat and came back running with a bottle of pills on hand. “Here, take one.”

“Is this poison or what?” Sherlock said, looking at the tablet on his hand.

“Come on, dear. Drink it.” Mrs. Hudson encouraged. Leaving the curly-haired man without a choice, he dry swallowed it. When it came down his throat, the idea struck him.

“Wait. This is the non-drowsy one, isn’t it?”

John hurriedly read the warning inscription in the bottle, “Warning: could cause some light headache and drowsiness…” John felt his face gone pale. “Oh shit! Sherlock, I…”

“Ugh. Forget about it. I’m going now.” Sherlock said, turning his back to everyone.

“We’ll be back in the afternoon, Mrs. H.” John said, waving his hand goodbye.

“Be careful boys!” Mrs. Hudson replied, waving back.

Again, the car ride is deafeningly quiet. John can’t help to think about the mess he caused Sherlock once again.

_Shit. What if Sherlock messes up with his exams! I’m gonna be fucked if Mycroft will know. Shit!_

Upon their arrival, Sherlock entered the enormous gates of the Imperial College, leaving John behind. John just looked at him and said, “The car will not wait for me, so you’d better go home by yourself.”

“Not gonna go until you enter the building.” John said intently.

“Piss off. Go.” He said, without turning back.

  * \--



The clocks went on, and the exam started. As Sherlock moved his pen, he cannot deny the effects of the pill he took in before starting.

_I’m starting to have double vision._

He held his head for support, and continued answering.

  * \--



John went home feeling wrecked and nervous. His favorite old friend anxiety lurked his mind. He felt so uneasy, knowing that Sherlock might mess up.

_Fuck. And I was the one who ensured Mycroft!_

He dipped his head in one of his pillows when he heard rumbling keys and footsteps in the living room. He dashed to find Sherlock who is taking his coat off.

“How was it? The exam?” John asked, an evident worried tone came from him, but it did not matter.

“I don’t know. My vision doubled throughout the entire time. Take note that if I’m gonna fail, I’ll blame you.” He said and then went inside his room.

_Shit! Shit! SHIT!_

  * \--



“Cheers for Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.

Sherlock smiled and John can’t help but feel happy too. Well truth is he was most relieved. Sherlock managed to pass the test for the Imperial College with excellent marks. Praises of joy came out of Mrs. Hudson’s mouth, when Sherlock’s phone rang.

“Excuse me.” Sherlock said as he went to the window near the sink.

“Congratulations, brother. An excellent job for passing the Imperial College.” Mycroft said on the other line.

“What do you want?” Sherlock shot back, his voice can be heard by John at the dining table as he was left alone. Mrs. Hudson went outside to buy cake at Speedy’s.

“There had been changes. Father wants you to target a high mark at Oxford’s.”

“The ever-changing mind. I suppose my choices have been narrowed down into one.”

“Yes. Please assure that. I’m sorry that your effort for the Imperial College has gone to waste, Sherlock.”

“Oxford, it is. Now piss off, Mycroft.”

Sherlock walked back towards the dining table. “Please tell Mrs. Hudson that I’m going up early.”

“Sherlock, I can’t help but overhear. I’m sorry.”

“An unavoidable circumstance. Now please tell her. I have some studying to do.”

Sherlock exited the room. John can’t help but to see an inch of disappointment ran at his face. He was given two choices at first, and when he passed the other, Sherlock is forced to do well in the other choice, which may be not his option. John sighed. Just how elite is Sherlock’s family? How controlling can his family be? He cannot imagine Sherlock’s childhood. Is he also forced to play the violin? Forced to go to that high school? Forced to graduate with a clean slate and untainted name? John’s thoughts were disturbed when Mrs. Hudson walked in.

“Where’s Sherlock, John?”

“Er, he retired earlier, Mrs. H.”

“But the cake…”

“Well, he thought he did not deserve the cake this time.”


	21. Chapter 21

It was Wednesday evening that John felt a strange pain in his abdomen. _Maybe I had too much drink last time._ Admitting to himself, he had few encounters with alcohol, but that night when he crashed in the couch was the worst. John cramped on his bed until the pain subsided. The battle was well fought so he decided to sleep.

By Thursday, he met up with Greg to accompany him to the Metropolitan Police Academy for his interview. Greg felt so nervous and by the time Greg finished, it was lunch. His bestfriend talked about his experience inside. But John hardly heard, as he felt another pain coming back on his stomach.

At night he decided to retire. Sherlock’s Oxford test will also be early tomorrow. Not minding his painful encounters, which fortunately was now long gone, he wanted to rest well for tomorrow. But John can’t help but think again about Sherlock and his future, and all he can see was uncertainty.

Friday morning came and John was the first to arrive on Mrs. Hudson’s dining table. He was immediately followed by Sherlock, who was still dressed formally, but only with a gray suit. Magnificence still defined the young man.

John expected that the ride from London to Oxford to be tedious. However, the comfort inside Sherlock’s car made it feel like it was only five blocks away from Baker Street. He looked at Sherlock, whose eyes still scanned the passing view out of the window, fingers lightly tapping his thigh. John wanted to hold his hand. He sensed that Sherlock was pressured by this exam. He wanted to calm his flatmate, but the idea would seem to further distract the pressured mind.

Suddenly, there was a hint of pain John felt in his stomach. _Shit._ As the car traveled, he could sense cold sweat trickling from the back of his neck. Sherlock seem to catch a distress in John, raising an eyebrow when John engulfed his stomach in his arms.

“What is it now?” Sherlock asked plainly. John just shook his head, and pretended that the pain subsided.

One block away and they can see the glory of Oxford University. A lot of cars were parked and Sherlock instructed the driver to park where they are situated. The driver assured him that they will be back as soon as Sherlock finishes. As the genius walked out of the car, John followed. Once again, Sherlock spoke to the driver of the car before walking further. John was puzzled as to why the car did not seem to leave abruptly, like what it did when they went to the Imperial College.

“You are to return with them after you see me enter the university compound.” Sherlock said, as if reading John’s mind.

“You’re not going to leave me out here this time?” John smirked, but was kind of confused by Sherlock’s actions.

“Don’t be an idiot. London is 62 miles away from here. And with that small brain of yours, you’re nowhere from a lost puppy if I leave you here.”

As they walked towards the gates, the stomach pain John felt is getting worse. _For God’s sake, not now!_ He tried to stifle a moan because the pain is starting to get in him. _So as long as Sherlock enters, everything will be fine._ As both of them arrived at the gate John told Sherlock, “Do your best… Don’t let the pressure take you on.” He even punched Sherlock lightly on the shoulder.

“Go. Before anyone suspects you’re my servant.” Sherlock turned his back and walked towards the grounds of Oxford. Other students also passed by, murmuring on how nervous they were, or if they are certain of their future. However, John’s eyes were only fixated on Sherlock, as he was slowly being consumed by a mass of people.

Then the hardest struck of pain hit John. He cannot take it anymore. John’s stomach was hurting, he was on his knees, struggling for something he does not know. His hairs stood up and his feeling was indescribable.

As Sherlock paced inside the campus, his attention was caught by gasps coming from the gate. Curious as he gets, he went back on his trail, only to find out John in his knees, arching in pain.

“Are you alright?” A woman passing by asked.

 “Hey!” Sherlock shouted at John.

“I’m… fine. I’m totally fine.” John replied in a strained voice and broken smile, looking back at Sherlock. “So go hurry to your exams…” Then John finally failed to compose himself as he was knocked down on the cemented floor.

“ _John_!” Sherlock exclaimed. He rushed towards his flatmate, who is now drenched in sweat. His face was pale as the dead. As impulse directed, Sherlock carried John and asked the people around in panic, “Where’s the nearest hospital in the area?!”

“The university hospital is right there.” Another lady said, pointing at the east direction.

Forgetting everything else, Sherlock walked briskly but careful so as not to add any more strains to John.

  * \--



“It’s appendicitis.” The doctor revealed to Sherlock their initial findings regarding John’s conditions. “He might be enduring the pain for a while now.”

Sherlock just sat on the visitor’s chair, watching John closely.             

“Sher…lock… hurry…” John mouthed in his sleep.

  * \--



John woke up with an IV strapped on his arm and a view of a white ceiling welcomed him. When he moved his body, he saw a figure that he recognized, was Mrs. Hudson.

“Mrs. Hudson?” he asked weakly.

“Oh John, my sweet boy! Are you okay? Is there still any pain you feel?” The old lady cupped John’s face in her hands and he can feel the radiating warmth of her touch as he shook his head. “Dear goodness, you have an appendicitis John, and the doctors had you delivered to the operating room. If Sherlock did not..”

“Sherlock!” He scrambled on the bed, feeling a pain on his arm due to the forgotten needle inserted in him.

“Oh don’t worry John. Sherlock might had some extra time after he delivered you here. He might be in the middle of his exams at this moment.”

Suddenly the door opened, revealing Sherlock Holmes holding a cup of canned coffee. Both John and Mrs. Hudson gasped in surprise.

“What? It’s as if you saw a ghost.” Sherlock said as he closed the door.

“You’re supposed to be in your exams, young man!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.

“I got sleepy so I got myself a coffee.” He just said without any reflected emotion.

Mrs. Hudson gasped. “Then what about the Oxford exam?”

“I didn’t take it.”

John’s eyes widened in horror. _Didn’t take it?_ Both Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson turned to him. John did not even realize he took his words aloud.

“It’s my fault…” John smiled in frustration, but now his voice was cracking. “It’s now really my fault…” He fisted the bed sheets in anger. “…that Sherlock’s future is going to be screwed up.” He looked bitterly outside the window.

The room was filled with silence.


	22. Chapter 22

Going back to Baker Street was humiliating. The constant ringing of Sherlock’s mobile did not stop until they reached the flat. John asked him to pick his phone up, but Sherlock just told him that it was probably Mycroft calling for the nth time and he wouldn’t bother to pick it up.

But to his annoyance, he picked his cell up as they entered the familiar surroundings of the flat.

“What?”

“Father is furious at your actions, Sherlock!”

“You do not have to worry Mycroft. I will come this evening to settle things out with him. Happy?” Sherlock turned his mobile off then grabbed his coat. John heard Sherlock’s words over the phone, implying that he was screwed up and will fix everything with his father. He wanted to apologize to Sherlock, but the damage was done, wasn’t it?

Left alone, John had an ample amount of time to think about everything he caused in Sherlock’s once peaceful life. Looking at his mountain back pack, he decided to do what’s best: to leave and never see Sherlock again. It was clear to him that he was really the _mess_ and to get things done, the _mess_ must be removed.

His phone rang, receiving a call from an unknown number. He was hesitant but still picked up.

“H-hello?”

“John. Good afternoon. It’s Mycroft.”

Feeling mortified, John spoke, “Look, I’m really sorry Mycroft. I did my best to see him but…”

“No need for an apology. It was Sherlock’s decision not to go the exam himself.”

John was not convinced on Mycroft’s words. He finally asked, “So did your father…”

“Ah, everything’s settled John. Sherlock asked for permission to attend Bart’s and still pursue medicine.”

“What?”

“It was rather a tedious discussion. Sherlock was given the condition of choosing his own degree if he gains excellent remarks at Oxford. However, if he failed, he will be studying medicine at the Imperial College, which he abhors both. I think you know about it John? That he does not like the medical field? So he had to compromise. He asked to attend Bart’s so as long as he will be expected to top the class until he graduates. Father approved of it, although there will be less control out of him.”

John does not know how to react.

“So long, John. I have matters to attend. And please take care until you regain your full recovery.” Then the call ended.

  * \--



At 2 AM, John put on his ragged coat and readied his back pack. The whole 221B was quiet. He assumed Sherlock was fast asleep in his room. He had not enough time, much less of courage, to tell Sherlock his decision of leaving.

Carefully descending the stairs, he remembered the old lady who took care of him so much, yet he is so cowardly, he does not want to see Mrs. Hudson’s reaction as to why he leaves. He just pressed his palm against the door, left a handwritten note on the doorstep of his landlady’s room and whispered a soft farewell and gratitude.

Stepping out of the flat, he had one last look. As he breathe in and turned away, he heard a rustling of the windowpane above him.

“That looks heavy.” A baritone voice spoke. John looked up to see Sherlock in his dressing gown.

“Sherlock?” John said, clearly surprised by the figure.

“You’re still supposed to be recovering.” Sherlock replied, leaning closely on the window.

“Don’t stop me! I can no longer…” John looked away as he managed another step.

“Not trying to stop you though.” Sherlock cut him, taking John aback. “Are you leaving because I’m not going to Oxford?”

John did not look up to him. “Because of that stupid cold medicine, and seriously considering what happened this time, I’m really a cause of messing up your life, just as you said. It would cause you a lot of inconvenience if I stay. You know for a fact that I still have feelings for you, and that won’t change. But, I just don’t want to cause any more trouble to you!”

“Just to let you know, it wasn’t your fault that I didn’t take the exam.” Now John looked up, only to find out that Sherlock is now the one looking away from him. “I would have made it on time if I went after taking you to the hospital.”

“Sher…lock…”

“I’ve always wondered what I’d do after getting into Oxford. As you’ve said, college is a place where you decide on what to do. But anyway, somehow recently, having you around has made life more interesting and exciting.”

“Does that mean you want to go to Bart’s too because I’ll be there?”

Sherlock was stunned by the question thrown by John, and replied, “Anyway, I’ve said what I wanted, so go.”

“But I…”

“It’s cold, so I’m going to close the window.”

“Wait!”

“Huh?”

“I promise I won’t cause you any more trouble, so can I stay a little longer?”

“With you around? It’s impossible not to cause trouble. Get back inside the flat before Mrs. Hudson notices.

Sherlock slide the  window down when John called him again. “Sherlock!”

“What now?”

“I love you.”

“I’ve heard that once too often.”


	23. Chapter 23

It was of impossible belief that John endured staying at 221B for the past six months. In this span of time, John knew a lot about Sherlock’s personality, though most of the time he doesn’t understand the reasons of his flatmate’s actions.

The odd hours of Sherlock playing his violin gave John mixed reactions. Undeniably, the genius can play with a full display of elegance. But doing it at three in the morning is ridiculous! However, as John observed, Sherlock’s melodies vary every time, depending on his mood. It can be a soft lullaby when he thinks deeply, a tense harmony if he failed one of his experiments, or a screeching noise when Mycroft calls him to talk about his responsibilities.

Of course there are also the times when Sherlock does not speak to him at all. Not like he did anything wrong, Sherlock’s just like that. And when he talks to John, everything is in full insult; a total bully as one must say. But John got immune to it; it’s like a virus that just won’t penetrate him anymore.

Then there are nights when Sherlock goes out without any say, leaving John worrying for hours. Then he returns with bloodshot eyes, a pale face, and sweaty forehead. John wanted to ask him if there’s something wrong, but Sherlock immediately locks himself in his room: the lone fortress where John is not allowed to go.

John can’t help but to think about everything that happened between them. From the confession, to Sherlock helping him study, to helping him with his injury, to Sherlock’s choice of not attending Oxford, and even their conversation when he planned to leave. Although he hates to admit it, John can feel that Sherlock simply cares. But sometimes, he can be a total machine void of everything.

Three days before Christmas, John decided to have a talk with Mycroft regarding Sherlock’s behavior, to which the older Holmes was happy to oblige. He was then invited to the Diogenes, an exclusive club for British Elites, where Mycroft spends his leisure time.

“Hello John. Is Sherlock causing you troubles?” Mycroft asked, offering tea to John at the same time.

“No, no. I mean well, he’s Sherlock.” He replied shyly.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Mycroft asked, now slicing a cake in his plate.

John told Mycroft his observations regarding the younger Holmes. To the blonde man’s surprise, Mycroft just gave him a smile.

“You don’t seem alarmed by your brother’s behavior, Mycroft.” John said amusingly.

“I’m not John. Well, not that much.”

“Why can’t Sherlock act like a normal person?”

Mycroft now laughed. “Oh John, a Holmes can never be normal.”

“What does that mean?” John was puzzled by Mycroft’s response.

“Thank you for reaching out to me John. I suppose you will have to know some information on how to deal with my brother.”

John nodded.

“It has come to your knowledge that I am seven years older than Sherlock, am I right? Our father was a diplomat and holds several connections within and out of the British government. So he was mostly out of the house, and Sherlock is not, in lay man’s term, ‘close’ with Father. I on the other hand, was studying in the university in most of Sherlock’s childhood. So it was my mother who had the responsibility of taking care of my younger brother.

“Mummy was Sherlock’s audience in most of his successes: his first walk, first school attendance, and first violin recital. Sherlock’s world revolved around impressing our mother. Unfortunately, she passed away when Sherlock was eight. And the late childhood years, we experience a sort of… trance.”

“A trance?” John was so hooked with the story he forgot his tea on his hand.

“Do you even wonder why Sherlock’s a genius, John? If he had a choice, he won’t be even attending high school. He knows everything that there is, or so he claims. This ‘trance’ is not a typical hypnotic state. Say, I am in front of the telly watching a film in a channel, with a high volume. Of course, the movie I am watching has its own story, do you still follow?”

“Yes. That’s the typical scenario.”

“Absolutely, except that there are a hundred television sets, each with movies with different stories, in their own volumes, all playing at the same time. That’s how information is processed in Sherlock’s brain, and even mine.

“Sherlock has done various coping mechanisms for this condition. And the fact that our mother died at that time when he needed her the most had an impact on Sherlock’s behavior, unlike me.”

Stunned won’t even describe John’s facial expression. “Control…” he whispered.

“What’s that?”

“Your coping mechanism is control over everything.”

“If you say so.” Mycroft kept his composure despite John’s strong words.                                                           

“You had control while Sherlock had nothing.”

“John…” Mycroft’s posture straightened. “Please call me as soon as Sherlock starts on going out on evenings alone. I’m afraid he’s resorting back to… something.”

John banged the coffee table. “I need to know, Mycroft!”

“Drugs.”

“Drugs?”

“I’ve handled a similar situation. Please John, call me.”

John finally relaxed. “Yes, I will.”

  * \--



And after that encounter, John spent his first Christmas at 221B. And that Christmas might be the best he had in years. Mrs. Hudson baked a cheesecake that they shared. The food was grand, and John got a photo frame from Mrs. Hudson as a present while John handed Sherlock’s present, a box of his favorite tea.

“And what did you get John, Sherlock?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s rude, young man! Ah! I have an idea.” Mrs. Hudson got her camera and announced, “Get over here and I’ll take a picture of the two of you.”

“Oh come on Mrs. Hudson, that’s not necessary.” John shook his head and his hands nervously. But suddenly he felt a hand extending on his shoulder through his back and to his surprise, Sherlock was on his side.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“Smile John, 1 2 3!”

And their first photograph together was captured, fit for John’s frame which now belongs to his desk table. Now it was the object of his stares, the confusion of Sherlock’s actions towards him still perplexes him as hell.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello guys. lengthy chapter but because the spirit of writing has possessed me, I give you, a lengthy chapter 24! Enjoy!

Two days. There were only two days left after the school break ends. Of course everybody hates it. But to John Watson it was a day that he will never hate.

It was a dark Saturday. The sun coveted its rays on the alleyways of London. As John Watson scanned over his message inbox of his phone, he can’t help but to reread his conversation with Mycroft three days ago.

_Wednesday, January 3, 23:13_

_Sherlock got home late. I had the same observations as he used to. JW_

_Wednesday, January 3, 23:18_

_“Noted. Thank you. MH”_

_Wednesday, January 3, 23:20_

_What happens to him now? JW_

That was the only conversation they had by text. The following day, John saw a restless Sherlock, pacing back and forth at the flat. He was always irritated and insults John as much as he could. A squeal of the violin ended his day, but the genius has not left the flat. That still happened on the following day and the next.

Then this unforgettable Saturday came. A call startled John as he was dozing off in the late afternoon. It was James Sholto. John just stared at his ringing phone, reminiscing the scene they caused at Speedy’s a few months ago. Since then, James did not contact him. _Was he afraid or humiliated?_ John did not know the answer. Maybe it was the right time to know.

He answered the call.

“Hello James.”

“John. Thanks. I did not expect you to pick up.”

“Is there something you need from me?”

“I want to talk to you John, before I go back to camp.”

John rose from his bed, sitting on its edge. “Oh. When?”

“This Monday. I want to… patch things up… before I go.”

“Okay.”

“Meet me at our usual coffee shop at an hour. Thanks, John.”

Then the line went dead.

 _It’s time for closure._ John tapped his fingers on his right knee.

  * \--



Fifteen minutes before the said encounter, John sensed no Sherlock on the flat. The latter’s whereabouts are still unknown and maybe he is just pissed off at something. Maybe he knew about John rabbiting on him. But he loves the man, and he knew deep down that there is something going on inside him, and he will do everything to stop it from continuing.

Erasing the thought about Sherlock, John went on his way to meet James.

Awaiting for several minutes, James came to John’s presence, offering to get him a cup of coffee. John obliged and after a few casual chatters, the real conversation began.

“Look John, I wanted to apologize to you a long time ago, but I didn’t have the courage.” James said, looking intently at John.

“Everything’s settled James. Sherlock and I are in good terms now, so there’s nothing to worry about.” John said, looking elsewhere but not James.

“There’s another thing I want you to know.” Suddenly, James grabbed a hold of John’s hand, taking the younger man in surprise. “I know I told you before that I don’t like having relationships with men, that it is disgusting and an ill-view to the society. But John, I like you. I have feelings for you. Ever since the day I left our apartment building, I realized how I miss seeing you, spending my time with you.

“When I came back from training, you were the only reason that I went back here in London. I had to see your face, to feel your touch. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I mean it. The kiss I gave you during the sports festival took a lot of courage from me, and I was delighted that I did.

“But after I learned about you and Sherlock, I can’t contain my anger and disappointment. Maybe if I realized sooner, you are with me. It was hard for me, to see that those eyes of yours that once admired me look at somebody else. Yes John. I know you had a… thing for me back then, but I was too stupid to realize it. If you just…”

“Okay. Okay. Calm down James.” John’s other hand now overlaid James’s. Every word uttered by the army cadet was vibrating on John’s ear, but he tried his best to neutralize his emotions, because truthfully, he just felt blank.

“John, please give me a chance.”

“James, listen. I-Things… already changed since the time we knew each other. After you left, I didn’t know how to handle my emotions. I learned to forget my feelings towards you. Then everything was back to normal for me. Then I met Sherlock. It was just stolen glances and occasional meetings but I had greater feelings for _him_. Then we became flat mates, and now we’re _friends_.”

“So was I, John.”

“But this is different. I don’t want to hurt you James, and I’m sorry.”

James let go of John’s hand. “Tell me that I still have a chance.”

John regretfully smiled at him. “Thanks for the coffee James. I will see you again next break, am I right?” Now John was the one holding his hands.

“Thank you. I won’t disappoint you John.”

  * \--



The walk back to Baker Street made John think over his conversation with James.

_He fucking confessed to me, right?!_

For all those years that John had to hide his feelings towards James, at the same time bearing the thought that his former co-apartment renter had a certain specific disgust for man to man relationships. For once, John did not ever realize that the tides will turn.

But back then, John never had Sherlock in his life. Now, he has him.

Truth be told, eradicating Sherlock Holmes in the picture would present John a better choice. He would gladly accept James’s confession. But that’s not the case anymore.

Still immersed in deep thought, John did not realize that he has arrived back at the flat when he heard a loud thud coming from their rooms. Quickly rushing in, John opened the door to find his flatmate sprawled on the floor.

“Sherlock!” He rushed towards him, but the figure stood up quickly, as of nothing happened. “Are you okay?”

“Shhh!” A disoriented Sherlock shushed him. “This floor. Marine plywood. Certified by a smeared Lloyd’s of London stamp, indicating that it has been here for approximately twenty years, judging by scratches and dust accumulation even if Mrs. Hudson swept the floor…”

John was perplexed by Sherlock’s actions. “Hey, Sherlock…”

“Look at the couch!” Sherlock pointed over their long couch. “Beech wood. Stuffed with corduroy. Approximately used by its previous owner for seven years, which murdered his own dog as evidenced by some small blood stains which was unrecognizable at first but the texture of the blood is definitely non-human. And oh, why a dog? Because of a single fur strand that is left near the location of the blood stain, which is the object of my microscope for the past three hours.”

John was terrified by the sight. Sherlock was shaking as he spoke his clever deductions. His face was crimson red. His hair was a total mess. It was… not the Sherlock Holmes he knew. Everything about this man is dreadful.

“See that telly? I mean, how can one own such a crap piece made of copper wires…”

Sherlock’s words faded into the background like a white noise. By impulse, John marched forward Sherlock, tipped his toes up, reached his arms over the man’s head, and engulfed him into his arms. He rested Sherlock’s head in the nook of his neck. John can smell Sherlock’s sweet-scented shampoo. He can feel the taller man’s breathing against his chest. The shivering still continued, but the deductions had finally stopped.

“Make it stop.” Sherlock said, and John promised it was a somber request. “Please, tell it to stop.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll make it stop. Anything for you, Sherlock.”

And they stayed like that for minutes. Sherlock finally calmed down for some time to John might call an eternity.

  * \--



_Damn._

John woke with a pain in his back. _Damn!_ He can’t feel his arms because it was numb. _And oh, damn…_ The sight of Sherlock still sleeping soundly in his arms was like a story plucked out of a dream. As the light finally reached the windows of 221B, John marveled at the sight of Sherlock’s face: the high cheekbones, the perfect-shaped lips, the smooth skin, the absurd curls, the perfection of his flat mate’s face.

But the admiration stopped when Sherlock jolted awake, meeting John’s gaze, which the other man quickly turned away. Sherlock instantly transferred on the other side of the bed, burying his face in one of his pillows. It was also the time that John remembered that he took Sherlock back on his room and tucked him in his bed, but he couldn’t let go of him, so he stayed that he did not even realize that he did not change his clothes.

John immediately went out of the bed and then he heard Sherlock muffle, “Get out.”

“Y-yes. I’ll go now.”

As John approached the door, he heard the voice once more but still muffled. “Won’t happen again, but thank you.”

“You’re wel-“

“Now get out!”

Those last three words were clear as a crystal, making John rush out of the room.

Now John had no fucking idea what the hell he did last night. But one thing was for sure: that he met a horrible man last night, and he did _everything_ in his might to bring back the man that he loved out of the darkness inside him.


	25. Chapter 25

“John.” The voice spoke in the other line of the phone.

“What the hell did you do to him, Mycroft?” John asked with a very irritated tone.

“Cut off his trust fund, so that he wouldn’t have access to that hobby of his. Is that why you called?”

“Everything’s fine.” John tried to muffle the lie in his words. “I think he learned his lesson.”

“Good. Is that all?”

“Please stop this torment Mycroft.”

“Goodbye John.”

The dial tone was the only sound John could hear in the whole scenery of 221B. His flatmate has still not emerged from his hobbit hole, and he was left alone in the living room. He thought about last night’s events, and the realization that he _misses_ it. How he cradled Sherlock’s figure like a lost child, how vulnerable Sherlock Holmes can be.

No one saw Sherlock like that. Just him. And if greed is a sin, then let judgment fall unto him.

As they went back to school, the boys of Baker Street refused to talk about what happened on that particular night. John thought of opening up the conversation, but refused to take action. Sherlock seemed to be unaffected by it, like a rock in the midst of a storm, firm and dull.

 _Maybe he deleted it._ John thought of the other possible reason. He has been living long enough with Sherlock to be naïve of how his brain works. As emphasized by the genius after calling him ‘idiot’ for several occasions, his brain works like a hard drive. And like a hard drive, it has limited memory storage. The solution is simple: the deletion of useless information.

_But was all that really unimportant to him?_

  * \--



As the dust of the window pane of the flat thickened, London swayed with the dance of time, and it was finally the day of freedom: graduation.

Everything still looked the same. They wore their uniforms and gathered at the auditorium to present the senior class graduating for the academic year. The formalities bored John, who was sitting next to Greg. Hell, they were graduating together, along with their classmates in Class F. They were situated at the last row of chairs. Of course, distance defined intelligence, as Class A sat at the front pews.

But there was one thing, one particular formality that John Watson waited for. And it was Greg who pushed his elbow to John’s belly to remind him of it.

Standing tall and proud in front of the crowd was Sherlock Holmes, the valedictorian, the superior, his _flatmate_. It brought back memories to John, to when he first saw this man. So near, yet so far, John imagined what it would be like to be with him. It was only in his imagination though. But as things escalated to here, his imaginings changed: _What would it be like to be the center of his attention?_

_Right. It was three years ago since I met that man. And this… this is the same feeling I had back then: the ignition of my unrequited feelings for him._

Rush of memories flooded John’s brain. The confession, the day he moved in, the studying, the talks, the insults, the caring, the nags, _that particular night_. John was so sure he did not have an eidetic memory, but there will always be room for those things.

_Many things sure happened since then. I’ve come to love him, hate him, and love him even more. And even though the feelings weren’t mutual, I’m glad that I’ve come to witness the true Sherlock Holmes._

Sherlock’s speech ended with a round of applause. John can’t help but to join the crowd as well.

  * \--



“Happy graduation!”

The entirety of Class F was full of smiles and happiness as they raised their cups for a toast. Although they were seated at the worst section of the restaurant, that didn’t stop them from celebrating the end of their high school careers. They were the only tables that Mr. Smith, their homeroom adviser, could afford after all.

John raised a cup as well, trying to level the glee that his classmates radiate. Greg on the other hand was so hyped up, he joined the other screaming boys as they laughed wholeheartedly.

But the noise died down when a familiar figure stepped into the restaurant. It was John who recognized the silhouette abruptly.

“Sherlock?” John asked, a hand still holding his fizzing cup. Sherlock just stared back at the eyes prying at him.

“What’s wrong, Sherlock?” A man behind him emerged, who was later revealed as Sebastian Wilkes, the utter bastard of the top class. Looking at the crowd he then spoke, “Oh! Why is the whole Class F in here?”

“Don’t tell me Class A is celebrating here too?” One guys from another table questioned.

“Unfortunately, we are.” Wilkes responded sarcastically.

Other Class A students started to walk in. “Of all people, why Class F?” one girl complained. “At least they are not joining our tables.” Another bloke commented. Sherlock just impassively passed by, Wilkes being his tail for the time being.

They were seated on the VIP tables and were served with the best menu. It was provided gallantly by Mr. Davidson, the terror Calculus teacher John hated so much, which happened to be Class A’s adviser.

Meanwhile, the air inside the restaurant became stiff around the tables occupied by Class F as soon as Class A started being comfortable. They can hear occasional insults, and topics only the intellectuals would understand, as if mocking the status of John’s class.

One of the lads from Class F received a phone call and rushed outside the restaurant to pick it up. He was among the several students who failed the college admission test, and was now finding a job and won’t be attending college anymore.

Suddenly, Mr. Davidson emerged from his seat, his eyes never leaving the bloke who just went outside. He walked towards the table where Mr. Smith sat, along with John, Greg, and the others.

“Well, I hear that that student would be seeking employment opportunities and won’t be attending a university.” He fixed his glasses that define his small eyes.

“And what are you trying to imply?” Mr. Smith said calmly, but everyone can feel a tension in the atmosphere. “As long as he will be a part of the good society, that’s enough.” He added.

“Really, all of you.” Mr. Davidson smirked, sarcasm evident in his voice. “Also, there seems to be a Class F student who’s nothing but a hindrance to our best student.”

Greg turned to John as soon as he heard the words. John on the other hand was startled, but just looked down on his thighs, guilt flooding his entire being.

The arrogant Class A adviser continued to babble. “Rumor has it that it was his fault that he’s not going to be attending Oxford.”

“Mr. Davidson.” Sherlock called from his table and walked towards his teacher. “It’s not his fault.”

The teacher strongly reacted to his words. “But, Holmes…”

“To have people say that I made such mistake for that imbecile would be the greater humiliation.” Sherlock said in a cynical tone.

These words pissed John off very much. Very much that he can feel the hot blood trail along his veins. He can’t contain it anymore and finally spoke. “Hey, what’s with calling me an imbecile?!”

Now the battle shifted between John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, which fascinated everyone inside the restaurant. Some of them were starting to gossip, since it is a rare sight. They didn’t even know that the two of them know each other.

“Isn’t that right?” Sherlock remarked with an evil grin.

“That may be true… but intelligence isn’t everything to being human, right?” Anger dominated John’s emotions, that he can feel heat on his face. “Sometimes, it’s the heart.”

“It’d still be more convincing if those words came from an intelligent person.” Sherlock countered with pride.

“Why are you always like this?! You fucking cold-hearted bully!”

“But you’re in love with this cold-hearted bully, aren’t you?”

Gasps and gossips went prominent now, and John can’t fathom the humiliation he just received. Everyone in the room now knows, and oh how he wishes a lightning to struck him at this very instant.

“I thought that was only rumor.” A girl commented. “But he rejected it right?”

“And to think he is a guy! That’s disgusting.” Another lad said.

“Such pointless courage from an insignificant person.” Another at the back remarked.

Sherlock smiled. “Pointless… that’s for certain.”

Everyone in Class A laughed. They fucking laughed at John Watson and his feelings he kept and protected for so how many years, now the subject of their amusement.

“You fucking bastards!” Greg launched forward but John stopped him before he caused a major scene. It’s enough that he is the only one involved in this.

“That’s right. I know your feelings all too well. So why don’t we tell everybody here that you, the great Sherlock Holmes, has me, an _imbecile_ as so you’ve told, as your fucking flatmate?!”

Sherlock was surprised by John’s words.

“And oh, I forgot. That you, the model student of this school, has been doing experiments with severed body parts, who plays violin at odd hours! I mean, what kind of normal person would do that? You, who pretends to love everyone and be loved back. Truth is, you even turn to dr-“

“That’s enough!” Sherlock’s baritone voice ringed all over the place, and he finally grabbed John’s wrist as they left, leaving everyone astounded.

Meanwhile, the student who picked up the phone call passed by Sherlock and John, and was puzzled by the ruckus he just missed.

  * \--



“Stop it! Let go of my fucking hand!” John struggled as he freed himself from Sherlock’s tight grip. Then the taller man cornered him in the alleyway of the building where the restaurant stood. He finally let go. But then, an angry arm forced its way on the space on the wall only inches away from John’s face, taking him by surprise. “What are you doing?!”

 Sherlock looked at his eyes. John stared back at the other’s, and all he can see is a mixture of dark hues that he cannot even describe. The totality of anger is now mixed with a tang of nervousness, as he was the subject of Sherlock’s attention.

 “You sure pull no punches.”

 “I won’t be threatened by you!” John looked down at their feet, illuminated by a street light in a distance. “You turned my feelings into a laughing matter in front of everyone…” He clenched his fists. “…so I was just returning the favor!” Now, he was holding back his tears. The tears he longed to shed these past few days, an indication of hurt, confusion, and feeling pathetic for himself.

“I’ve had enough.” John said tiredly, a faint smile drawn on his face. “I’m going to stop loving you.” John looked away from him, but already missing the view of Sherlock’s eyes.

 “Eh? Can you do something like that?” Sherlock’s tone was amused. It was now his chance to show a grin.

 “I bloody can!” John insisted, looking straight back at him. “I know your character so well that it disgusts me! These… These stupid, unrequited feelings will end along this fucking graduation!” Now the tears from John’s eyes started to fall uncontrollably.

 Sherlock’s brow flinched. “So you’re going to forget me.”

 “Right as hell! I’m going to forget you and attend Bart’s! Get a medical degree, while you can rot in the Imperial College and I’ll never see you again…”

 “Then go ahead and try.”

 John admits that London is a very loud city. Where cars honk at their might, where crowds gather at usual places. But here, in this very moment, there was no noise, no disturbance. The only thing he could hear is his own heart beat, and his increased paced of breathing. The only thing he can see? The man he fell in love with for three years, placing a soft, warm kiss on his lips. Those perfect, cupid bow lips has perfectly caught his own, and he can feel the sensation of it. His eyes were wide enough to see that this wasn’t a dream.

 A loud car siren pulled him back to reality. Sherlock finally released him from the kiss, leaving John there, unable to move and still sorting fiction from reality. Sherlock just stared back at him.

 “Serves you right.”

 Sherlock walked away from him and never turned back, pushing a tongue out as if teasing John.

 John can’t help but fall into his knees, barely even knowing that the wall was supporting his weight from the sudden events. The redness of his face was now a result of an unexplainable feeling. He did not dare to blink because it might change this reality into fantasy.

  _A… kiss?_

  _Sherlock… just… kissed me._


	26. Chapter 26

The screams of London barely registered into John’s senses. Here he was, being kissed on the lips tenderly by Sherlock Holmes, the madman that he loved and cared for these past four years. He was sure he can hear his own heartbeat, but made a ridiculous claim that Sherlock’s heart beat with his.

 _“John…”_ , the baritone voice always catches John on the edge, not to mention that the taller man called him by his first name. _“Is this what you want?”_ John could not take off his look on Sherlock’s eyes, positively filled with dark arousal as John was still pinned on the wall.

 _“Sherlock._ ” He managed, but came out as a sensual moan. Suddenly, hand loosened John’s belt and the said hand dipped underneath his trousers, feeling his cock growing hard at every stimulating touch. He tried not to close his eyes, as Sherlock’s focus was still on him. _“Y-yes… M-more…_ ” he rocked his hips to gain more friction. He can feel his climax, erratic breaths filled the air. He was about to come when Sherlock withdrew his hand and darted out a tongue.

_“Serves you right.”_

*THUD!*

John tried to stifle a painful moan as he landed on the floor of his bedroom. Aching on his hurt shoulder, he realized that he also has an aching member he needed to tend to. Sighing, he went back on his bed and tried to calm the sensitive body part.

After showering (which was composed of merely relieving the aftermath of his dream), he looked on his desk calendar. Today will be his first day at Bart’s, his first day as a pre-medical student. He can’t help but to think of making new friends, and taking the first steps to reach his career.

The bad part is Greg’s absence. Today was also his friend’s first day at the Metropolitan Police Academy. He can’t help but to admit that Greg is a fucking loud person, but he will miss his antics and his company at these times they were apart. But he hoped the best for his mate.

Stumbling his vision was the photo frame on his desk and realized it was not Greg’s absence that might make this day worst. The fact that he and Sherlock has not talked about the incident since then made John uncomfortable. They are taking the same undergraduate course, and he’s not so sure how to act in front of his flatmate.

Emerging from his room, the usual scenery brought John to familiarity: the home-cooked waffles, the brewing tea, Mrs. Hudson serving, and _Sherlock_ sitting there. The only thing that changed, is that Sherlock is in his white long-sleeved undershirt and a tuxedo covering it. He was in his tailored pants, and very expensive shoes. He looked more handsome, John admitted to himself. His curly hair bounced more, as they were growing. As the genius sipped for tea, he looked up at John as if acknowledging his arrival. John met his gaze for a few seconds then immediately looked away, trying to hide his blushed cheeks.

He can’t help but to compare himself to Sherlock. He just wore a ragged jumper that made him look like a married man with God knows how many kids. He was nothing than an inch as compared to his gorgeous flatmate, and he was entirely sure that girls will flock around him and boys will envy him.

“S-So we’re in the same class now…” John tried to start a casual conversation between him, purposely avoiding the ‘kissing’ topic.

“Bart’s is catering a lot of students. We have the same subjects, but no, we are not in the same classes.” Sherlock continued to hover on his phone, as if looking for something important than talking to John.

“You look nice.” John complimented, focusing his stare on his plate.

“Do I? I thought that’s always.” Sherlock said smugly, but still did not look to John.

On the other hand, John felt like a heavy burden was lifted from his shoulders. “Listen, about that ni-“.

“Oh boys, hurry up! You don’t want to be late for your first day!” Mrs. Hudson interrupted.

“I’ll be off.” Sherlock replied, grabbing a large coat. John looked at him and adored him like a perfect statue. Everything in Sherlock’s stature was perfect.

“Best hurry your food John.” Mrs. Hudson snapped him back from reality. The minute he returned his look on the staircase, Sherlock was no longer there.

  * \--



John hurriedly excited the household as he bid a quick farewell to Mrs. Hudson. The inside of his bag was a mess, but enduring it would be the best option or else he will be late for the first period. _If Sherlock was not that much of a selfish git, I would be gone to school now._ Panting, he did not realized he bumped into something… oh no wait, _someone._

“What the-“

“Sorry.” A girl apologized in front of him. Her hair was a bit disheveled but nonetheless, she looked like in the same situation as John. The boy could not help but to spot anything peculiar about this stranger.

“You’re going to St. Bart’s? You’re new here I assume?” he asked. The girl looked at him earnestly, piqued by John’s observations.

“Uh, yeah. How did you know?” she asked, tucking a band of loosened hair on her ear.

“I.D. And your clothes suggest something that is not ‘traditionally’ London, so perhaps you’re new here.”

“Yeah. I got lost.” She replied shyly.

“I’m attending Bart’s too. You can come with me.” John said with a smile. “John.” He extended his hand. “John Watson.”

“Kate.” The woman answered. “Kate Hamilton. I’m taking up Research.”

“Oh. I’m pre-med. Where are you staying? London’s a bit busy these days.” The two of them continued walking on the pavement.

“I’m moving tonight. Somewhere called Baker Street? 221C.”

“What?!” John said amusingly. “I live in the same building, 221B. Gee, our landlady never said about anyone moving in.”

“I’ll just be there for the first month. My parents got me an apartment but was still under renovation. So I’m spending my time there.”

“That’s cool!” John beamed, not realizing that they were nearing Bart’s. “Well, we better be off now. I think we still have five minutes before class. See you.”

“Wait.” Kate said, stopping John’s footsteps. “Y-you’re good, at deducing people.”

John chuckled. “Well, you haven’t met my flatmate.” A wave of farewell ended the conversation and John dashed off to his class.

  * \--



As Sherlock said, he and John had the same subjects but different time periods. So in the end, John was completely alone in a pool of aspiring medical students who, if he was to judge, were pretty well-off than him. Sighing, his tension was relieved by a touch he felt on his shoulder. Looking up, he was surprised to see a familiar face.

“Mike! Mike Stamford!”

“I was right when I spotted you in the back! Hello John!”

John can’t help but to pull his chubby mate in a hug, relief surging inside him. “You went into the same shit as I did.”

“Yeah!” Mike answered. “Childhood dream.”

“Glad to have you Mike.” John released him from his arms.

“So how is your stay at Baker Street?” Mike asked him as they walked out of the classroom.

“Everything’s fantastic. I mean, Mrs. Hudson takes care of us like our own mother, and the rent’s affordable so…”

“Wait. ‘Us’, so you have a flatmate?”

“Yeah. Utter genius and full-time bully. He actually studies here under the same program.”

“But you can endure him?”

“Yeah I can. Of course.”

As if speaking of the devil, Sherlock emerged from a nearby classroom. John’s attention suddenly shifted on him, wanting to introduce Sherlock to Mike. But he was highly frustrated when a woman followed Sherlock behind. Catching up with Sherlock’s stride, the woman said something to Sherlock that made Sherlock giggle. _I’ve never seen Sherlock Holmes giggle!_ He wanted to swear, but he tried to calm himself.

Without hesitation, John bid immediate farewells to his friend, leaving Mike confused. John trailed the two of them, as they paved their way towards the medical laboratory. John peeked from the hole in the door. He can now see the woman in full view. Despite John’s inner protests, he could see that the girl was beautiful. No, beautiful is not the appropriate word, it’s _sexy._ John can feel a dominant aura from her. Her hair was neatly and elegantly tucked. Her curves looked a lot like those seen on magazines, and her eyes asserted governance. She was casually talking to Sherlock, who seemed enjoying the conversation between them.

To John’s surprise, he was accidentally pushed to the door by a group of students, revealing himself in front of Sherlock and the mysterious girl. He stared at the two of them nervously, and just managed a wave of hand, unsure of how and what to speak.

“What do you want from me?” Sherlock relieved him of his discomfort.

“N-nothing. Just wanted to see the lab, you know what I mean?” John muttered his excuse, scratching the back of his head.

“Sherlock, is he a friend of yours?” the woman asked.

“No.” Sherlock looked away, putting his free right hand inside his slacks pocket.

“Perhaps, someone special?” the woman teasingly asked.

“No.” Sherlock’s answer was direct.

 _What the hell?!_ John shouted at the back of his mind. _Then what the fuck was that kiss about?!_

Sherlock walked out of the room when the woman asked, “Could I invite you for a coffee, Sherlock?”

“Perhaps another time, Ms. Adler.” Sherlock replied without looking back.

John felt utterly defeated. Sherlock even acknowledged the stranger on the same day he met her. Disappointment filled John’s entire being.

  * \--



Back at Baker Street, John was about to emerge from his room when he bumped into Sherlock who looked like he was about to go into John’s room as well.

“Mrs. Hudson wants to say that dinner is ready.” Sherlock said plainly.

John looked down and tried to free words that refused to get out of his mouth.

“What?” Sherlock said annoyingly.

“The woman in the lab earlier…” John finally started.

A brow and a smirk were drawn in Sherlock’s face. “Ah, Irene Adler.”

“You even know her full name and address her by it.” John can’t help a feeling of hotness in his cheeks.

“I’ll remember it if I hear it once.”

“Are you and Ms. Adler…”

“Oh. Feeling jealous?” Sherlock’s smirk is growing wider.

“That’s not it!” John shamelessly denied.

“She’s pretty…”

John felt as if a huge and heavy boulder was dropped on his shoulders.

“…and seems intelligent as well…”

The boulder’s weight felt twice as heavy when Sherlock uttered the words.

“…She even told me she placed fifth in the National Mock Exam.”

 _Fuck._ John thought. “So why is she at Bart’s?”

“Who knows.” Then Sherlock’s attention was on him again. “Before I forget, did you say that you were going to forget me after graduation?”

John tried to stifle a gasp. Sherlock then added, “Ah, we’ve already _kissed_ and all, didn’t we?”

John can’t help the blush in his cheeks as the memory went back to him. Sherlock walked towards him, invading his personal space, lowering his head to level the smaller man’s sight.

_Fuck! Is he going to do it again?_

John closed his eyes, his heartbeat just increasing as the seconds passed. Then he heard a chuckle. Opening his eyes, he found Sherlock walking towards his room, his chuckle now turned into laughter.

_You bloody bastard! He was just teasing me! Didn’t even fucking care about kissing me before! Fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkk!!!!_


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i accidentally created a case-fic chapter. huhuhuhu. i think it's my frustration of knowing that some of my friends are going to med school and i'm not, so i'm lashing it out here. enjoy!

John observed Sherlock’s gaze at the stranger on the dinner table. It did not say anything though, at John’s discretion, but he knows the detective is currently on the process of deducing the lady with them.

“Boys,” Mrs. Hudson broke the silent dinner. “This is Kate, the tenant that will reside 221C.”

“Yeah, I’ve met her earlier.” John smiled fondly. Kate nodded at his direction. “Sherlock, this is Kate Hamilton. She also goes to Bart’s like us, but she’s on…”

“Research, yes, I know.” Sherlock said timidly. “I also know why Mrs. Hudson never mentioned her arrival, not that it’s the landlady’s fault.”

“Of course you do, _show-off._ ” John bit back. At Kate he directed the words, “Kate, Sherlock Holmes, my annoying and _confusing_ flatmate.”

“H-Holmes? You are _the_ Sherlock Holmes? The youngest?” Kate mused, almost dropping his jaw as if meeting a popular telly celebrity.

“Ah. Perhaps your father is Lin Hamilton, one of the pioneers of neurosurgery studies here in London? Which I can tell that you adore and the inspiration for your pursuance in Research, judging by the inaudible gasp I just heard the instant I mentioned your father’s name.” Sherlock looked at her with interest.

“And what about my unexpected arrival, Mr. Holmes?” The lady said, clearly nervous at every word Sherlock uttered.

“I believe your father is overprotective of you, and that there is something behind this unannounced arrival of yours. Clearly you can afford a huge and luxurious flat, but your father clearly begged Mrs. Hudson to let you stay here so that you cannot miss the first day of class, which I think is upon your insistence. I understand that my father has deep connection with yours, and has requested my brother’s assistance to guard you. But this act of overprotectiveness is not entirely due to you becoming from a prominent family. This is because there is someone after you.” Sherlock ended his speech by gulping from his cup of tea.

“Sherlock…” John tried to stop his flatmate, but the damage has already been done.

Kate looked away from everyone in the dinner and table. Finally she said, “I think I’m full. Thank you for the wonderfully served dinner. I think I must retire now.” Then she left politely.

Back at their own flat, John tried to scold Sherlock, but the taller man was already on his laptop, doing a search. Peeking on him, John saw Sherlock typed Kate’s name.

“And what the hell are you trying to do now?” John demanded.

“None of your business. Get lost.” Sherlock replied, not leaving the screen with his eyes.

John sighed and decided to leave him be.

By morning, John woke up hearing sounds of metal clinking coming from the kitchen. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at the clock. It was 8 in the morning. He and Sherlock don’t have a class to attend until the afternoon. Marching from his room and yawning, he became suddenly awake, swearing that it was Sherlock’s figure which escaped from one of their windows. He rushed towards it and saw a rope dangling from their window pane down to the window of 221C. As curiosity peeked on John’s mind, he followed the rope and saw Sherlock inside the new tenant’s bedroom, scanning through her drawers.

“What the fuck, Sherlock?” John exclaimed, startling the genius with his voice.

“Why are you here?!” Sherlock whispered loud enough for John to hear.

“Breaking and entering, really?!”

“Fuck off!”

“No! Tell me what’s going on!”

“Why would I?”

“Because if you don’t I’m gonna call Mycroft and tell him that you’re rigging the place of a girl he was requested to protect!”

“Fine! I’m telling but first go back upstairs.”

John smirked. This might be the second time Sherlock failed to win an argument between them. He knows there’s something Sherlock saw in Kate that piqued the genius’s interest. He just needs to find out what it is.

Back on their flat, Sherlock was scanning through his phone when John called his attention.

 “Talk.” John demanded.

Sherlock sighed. “That girl. She’s a target of a serial killer.”

“A what now?” John felt he heard the wrong words.

Sherlock found comfort on his chair opposite John’s and spoke, “Since three years ago, a serial killer is reaping his victims from some of the most prestigious universities in England. This loose killer was known for the antics he does on his victims. He displays the cadaver as an anatomy specimen and places his victim on the laboratory, so that the first class in the said laboratory will be the first audience to adore his masterpiece.”

John gasped in horror. He could not believe the story he’s hearing from Sherlock. The genius continued, “ His first victim was Eleanor Holt, a first year nutrition student from Cambridge, was found dead, her whole digestive system displayed. The following year, it was an Oxford freshman, Claire Johnson, dentistry major wherein her jaws were forcefully opened to display the parts of the mouth. Last year, it was from the Imperial College, Carla Louise Lively, first year medical student with a major in orthopedics, who was skinned and her whole skeletal system displayed.”

John wanted to throw up, but he can’t help but to notice a thrill in Sherlock’s voice as he spoke, spotting the eventual grins his flatmate gave out. “And you believe that Kate is next?”

“All of these victims are top students of their batches. All of them had high ranks during the National Mock Exam. Also, their family backgrounds suggest that all of them are likely to be the next in line of their family's prestigious works in the medical field. It’s likely that the serial killer wants to display the parts of the human brain this year.”

“And what about Ms. Irene Adler?” The mention of her name made John’s mouth sour. “What if she is the target?”

“I believe that Ms. Adler is not from a well-off family, so it is likely that Ms. Hamilton is the target, as evidenced by the high level of security his father requested from Mycroft. And since Mycroft clearly has the _control_ of this place, then it will be the safest option.”

“And you mean by ‘Mycroft in control’ is?”

“Cameras. Security cameras all around the building, as well as civilian guards monitoring this place.”

“Even inside _our flat?!_ ”

“Yes.”

 _Then what about my ‘private nights’?! Shit! Did Mycroft saw that too? Oh buggering fuck!_ “And why am I sensing you’re enjoying this?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re grinning as you told me your story. Oh wait, no Sherlock…”

“I’m going to find the culprit. Problem?”

John rose from his seat. “Clearly! What are you, a crazy, pretending detective?! You’re not!”

“I’m not gonna take orders from you.”

“But it’s a _freaking_ serial killer!”

John saw a glow in Sherlock’s eyes, which clearly sent a message that there is no stopping him from poking this shit. “Okay, mister, here’s the deal. Either you let me come with you or I’ll call Mycroft and tell him about this mess!”

“I don’t care. Go ahead.”

“And you can live without money for the following weeks?”

“Fine! God, you're such an annoying idiot!”

“Good. I think that’s settled.”

Sherlock sulked in his chair as John walked through the kitchen. He found himself adoring the sulking figure of the genius as he boiled the kettle for a tea.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys! I know it has been days since I have updated. I was tired from finishing my school clearances. And I've recovered so I'm back. I will try to post in the following days. Please don't be mad. :/

“Oh God! Will you shut up?!” Sherlock screamed from the living room where he is focused on his laptop searching for anything related to the ‘case’ at hand.

“I didn’t even say a fucking thing!” John shouted back from the kitchen where he is pondering on the huge possibility that _Mycroft,_ that prat, could be enjoying watching his private sessions: masturbating while moaning _his_ little brother’s name through his stupid surveillance cameras.

“You’re thinking! It’s annoying.” Sherlock spat. “If you’re still worried about the surveillance thing, I would like to clarify that the cameras are installed _outside_ our premises. Mycroft is not an idiot as to sneak into the private lives of the people inside this building. I ensured it. And whatever issues of your privacy you would like to keep, rest assured it’s all yours.”

“Are you sure?” John rose up from his seat, walking slowly towards Sherlock’s.

“I hate repeating myself. Get lost.” Sherlock replied, not even bothering to look up.

Sherlock’s words were reassuring; well they looked reassuring to John. And if Mycroft certainly found out, then maybe he was already abducted and the older Holmes had a “chit-chat” about it with him. But there wasn’t any of the like.

“Data, _John_! Data, data data! I cannot make bricks without clay!” Sherlock exclaimed, almost tossing the laptop away from him. That was John’s cue. They have made no progress since they _handled_ the ‘case’. Of course, what would two mere medical students do, with no background information, connections, and resources? John sighed. He looked at his wristwatch. It’s almost seven in the evening, and it’s the first time he’ll meet with Greg since college started.

“Okay. Since you told me to get lost, I will.” John fetched his jacket. “Call me if there’s progress. I’m gonna meet up with Greg and I think I’m coming home late-“Suddenly Sherlock got up from his seat and in a matter of seconds, crowded John’s personal space. To John’s surprise, Sherlock cupped his face with his two hands. John can feel the warmth of his flatmate’s hands on his cheeks.

“Brilliant.” Sherlock said, not leaving his stare at John. “That’s it. I’m coming with you.” Sherlock then spun around to fetch his coat as well.

John, who was still in awe about the few seconds that passed stammered, saying “Wh-what? W-Why?”

“Greg Lestrade. He will provide us _everything._ ” Sherlock grinned widely, his coat flying as he put it on.

  * \--



“Christ, are you both out of your sanities?” Greg exclaimed as he looked closely on John’s eyes. The words coming out from Sherlock’s mouth would be acceptable, but hell, even his bestfriend is on board on this madness. “Seriously, even you, Watson?”

“Come on Greg. This is an important matter. A person _could_ possibly die from the hands of a serial killer!” John said, doing some ridiculous hand gestures for emphasis.

“Don’t be exaggerating. It’s just a plain _killing_ event.” Sherlock opposed, sipping gently from his cup of tea.

Greg sighed. It is enough that the three of them are discussing a possible murder event on a public place like the coffee shop they are in. At least most of the other customers are busy with their own businesses.

“Well you two are lucky bastards.” Greg is now smirking, which John interpreted as a positive response for their request. “My criminology paper focuses on this serial killer. I’ve got some case files. But guys, please, if these get out publicly, I will be screwed. Like totally fucking screwed. And since I owe Sherlock one, I’m gonna do it.”

“Goodness, thanks Greg.” John felt so relieved.

“It’s a win-win situation, Greg. I get my serial killer, you get an A plus on your paper. That’s it.” Sherlock returned the Met trainee’s smirk with his own.

“Okay. I’m gonna send them via email tonight, so that you can start. God, this serial killer is such a mess, right? Are you sure both of you are okay, that you are both safe?” Greg leaned closer to the boys in the table.

“Of course.” John assured his bestfriend. “And sorry if we can’t hang out this time.”

“John, that’s not a problem. Just stay safe, you two.” Greg now relaxed himself as he leaned back once more on the cushion.

“We’ll not hold you long. Thank you again, Greg.” Sherlock raised his hand. “You’ll gonna be my contact in the New Scotland Yard.” Sherlock now stood up, signaling John to do as well.

Greg chuckled. “You sound so sure. Don’t get my hopes up Sherlock.”

Sherlock just smiled. John followed him, also unsure of Sherlock’s words.

  * \--



“What was that about, Sherlock? About Greg?” John walked briskly just to keep up with Sherlock’s pace.

Sherlock just ignored him. John kept on pressing the same question as they reached a pavement where a traffic light signals go, with some people waiting for it to turn into red. The duo immersed in the crowd, when Sherlock said “Someone is following us.”

The smaller man was now in full alert of all his senses, looking frantically around. “What? Is it someone we know?”

“Stop looking around.” Sherlock warned him. The traffic light is now red, and some of the people are starting to cross the street. “On my signal, we are going to run.”

Amidst the busy ruckus of the street, John can hear is own heart beat. Swallowing at nothing, John braced himself for the oncoming danger. Looking at Sherlock, he realized that the composure of his flatmate was at its apex. He was calm, but looking at his eyes, he can sense alertness, like a prey strategizing on how to get away from its predator.

As the two of them immersed on the crowd and finally reaching the other side of the street, John followed Sherlock who headed on an alleyway. Now John had a view of their perpetrator on the corner of his eyes, and suddenly

“Run, _John. Now!_ ”

Adrenaline shoots up to John’s system, and _God I’ve never been more alive!_ Those were the words that ran on John’s mind, as they were being chased on the outskirts of London. Every step he took, every amount of oxygen he took in, every swing of his hand as he ran, he can feel it in every fiber of his being.

And it took three words from Sherlock Holmes to do so.

Said man is now in front of him, running as well. On a curve, John has overtaken Sherlock. However, their mysterious follower caught up grabbing a hold of Sherlock’s coat. As John sense the oddity, he breaks his foot as if stomping hard on a brake pedal, and finds Sherlock struggling with their stalker. Running back towards him, he pulled the unknown man away from his flatmate, and tried to pin him down and punched him again and again. Then in an instant, he felt a pull of his jacket’s collar. As he looked up, he saw Sherlock giggling and heard him say, “Let’s go! Now!” He then let go of the man, and followed Sherlock.

The frantic run to Baker Street was now starting to subside. As they entered the building, both men were leaning against the wall opposite the familiar door of Mrs. Hudson’s. What’s surprising is that they were both giggling, coming down from the high adrenaline. To Sherlock it was just fun, but to John, it was a marvel, doing that insanity together with his cold-hearted and bully of a flatmate. Seeing Sherlock smile at him made his heart flutter once more.

“That… was insane.” John finally said the words.

“Yeah.” Sherlock replied, now leaving John’s gaze, trying to catch his breath.

“Did you… see him? His face?” John asked.

Sherlock’s breath finally evened out. “He’s…”

Then Mrs. Hudson’s door opened, catching the attention of the boys. “Hello boys.” She said. Turning to John, she spoke, “John, there’s someone waiting for you upstairs.”

“Really? Who?” John’s face gave a puzzled expression. He hasn’t called anyone since he moved here, and he was certain only chosen friends know his address.

As if on cue, the smiles drawn on their faces faded, and he felt Sherlock knows what is happening because he simply said, “I’ll be going out.”

“But we just got home.” John insisted.

“Fresh air.” He simply answered back as he closed the main door.

John felt there is something big about to happen. First, their mysterious stalker, and then now, and unknown visitor. As he carefully ascended the stairs and opened the door, a familiar figure was sitting on their sofa. Hearing the creaking door the visitor turned to John’s direction.

“Harry?”

“Hello, little brother.” The woman said. “It has been long since we saw each other.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap has some timeskips so please bear with me... *puppy eyes*

In a few seconds that passed, John just stared at the standing figure he just saw as he entered his own flat. Struck by the familiarity of this person’s face, John cannot fathom what could be the intention of this woman looking back at him. He’s never had a sister for God knows how long.

Finally he said, “What are you doing here?”

“John, I missed you.” Harriet Watson could be the last person to say those words. But indeed he heard them right. His sister walked towards him, engulfing the smaller man into a tight embrace. Uncomfortable as it may seem, John let her hug him of course. As the embrace loosened, John repeated, “What are you doing here?”

When Harry pulled off, John can see her eyes swelling with tears. He tried not to be affected of course. He knew Harry _very well_.

“I’m going to live here, in London.” Harry declared. “And I want you to come and live with me.”

John huffed, as if amused by the words. “Living with you? And turn my life into a mess. No thanks.”

“Listen, John. I’ve changed. I stopped drinking, it’s a year now. I-I found the love of my life and _she_ changed me. I want to make it up to you, John.”

“And how could I believe you Harry? You were the person I thought that I could lean on, since Mom and Dad died. And where were you? Hmm? You drowned yourself into alcohol as if it’s the only thing that keeps you alive!” John can’t help but to utter his words of anger he kept so long inside.

“I was wrong John! And as I said, I want to make it up to you. I miss my baby brother. I’ve got a flat near Northumberland. I live there, with Clara. She changed me John, and encouraged me to look for you. And I won’t seize the chance of us to be family again.”

John looked down on their dusty carpet floor. In a sense, Harry was right. But he just can’t make a decision right now. Not with his schooling, and the case, and Sher-

“Please think about it John. Please. Here.” Harry put her calling card on the coffee table. “Call me if you’ve made your decision.” She kissed his forehead and left.

John eyed on the piece of paper on the coffee table. He finally took it after a few moments of consideration, and locked himself inside his room.

  * \--



John spent the night staring at the printed letters and numbers in his hand. Sitting on his desk with only his desk lamp on, he carefully considers the cards on his hands. Seeing Harry earlier made John realize a couple of things. Harry was not a bad sister the entire time. When their Mom and Dad were still alive, Harry would use to tickle the then little John when they share the same room during family vacations. Harry was a bully, John smiled at the thought. But she was the most lovable bully in his life. Harry was even the first one to ask him what he wants to be when he grew up, and told him _“Of course, you can be both an army man and a doctor! Who’s stopping you?_ ”

But it all changed when Mom and Dad died. Depression flooded Harry’s entire being and it flooded her. She pushed John away, created huge barriers a child like John can never penetrate. With everything that’s happened to them, John made a choice. He chose not to drown himself like Harry did, and move on, and kept an image of Harry that was once bright and beautiful.

Now, Harry showing up on his flat could change everything. She is the only family he had left, and if it is true that she has changed, then of course, he will come with her. They have wasted enough time to be together.

But this life he is living now, he is contented. Sure, Sherlock still treats him like shit, but he can’t resist on admiring every single day of seeing and being with the man he loves. Everything they shared together drew meaning in his once dull life. He stared at their photograph together. Oh this man. And the fact that this man is putting himself in unknown danger made him worry, a lot.

But maybe he had enough of this life. Maybe the time he spent alone is now enough. Maybe it is time to end his loneliness.

  * \--



John found Sherlock at their dining table. The curly haired man was busy trying to scan and read the papers which seemed to be the case files Greg sent them. He walked slowly towards him, as if a child waiting to be punished by his father.

“Finally, you can be of use here. Find some information you can on that folder. I want-“

“Sherlock, I’m moving out.” The words seemed to catch Sherlock’s attention because he met John’s eyes, but resumed his work as if unfazed.

“Listen, Sherlock. The times we-“

“Spare me the details. I don’t want to be knowledgeable in your personal matters.”

“But the case-“

“You’re off the case. I appreciate your assistance.”

It seemed that John lost this verbal battle with his roommate and fled. _Of course you’re moving out, why would he need you for the case?_ John returned to his room and started to pack, heaving sadly.

  * \--



Harry picked up John by the afternoon in Baker Street. The younger Watson ensured to bid farewell to their sweet landlady. However, no trace of Sherlock Holmes was seen on the shores of Baker Street. Maybe he came to school early to test up some samples. Maybe he purposely avoided John after their awkward conversation last night.

John’s first night on Harry’s place was pleasant. He got to meet Clara, which meant that her sister was clearly not lying to him. They talked about their childhood, and Clara was amused by John’s stories. He had a wonderful night as he retired to his own bed. It was spacious, and some of John’s old stuff was neatly placed there. But he can’t help but to wonder what does his genius flatmate doing at this very moment.

  * \--



Arranging some of his old stuff is exciting yet very tiring for John. At his current room, some of his childhood stuff was placed on some boxes, reminding him that there are still some of the things loaded up at the attic.

So John went and was greeted by the dust which flew instantly like minute birds. Coughing silently, he crawled up and found some more boxes. Opening the one nearest, he discovered some of his old books during his primary years. He found it so funny, chuckling at his scribbles and out-of-the-boundary coloring strokes.

As he opened the bigger boxes, he found a medium-sized ivory box which came along his dad’s old jerseys. Curiosity consuming him, he opened it. His eyes widened on the item on hand.

It was his dad’s 45-caliber gun.

John and Harriet’s father, Michael Watson, was a war veteran. He fought battles, mostly in Iraq where he struggled for his life, fought other people’s battles, and tried hard to save lives. His stories fascinated Harry, but John is always struck in awe, hearing his dad’s stories in the battlefield. By 12 years old, John practically _begged_ his father in the hopes of handling a gun. As much as his mother protested, John won’t hold back, and of course pride beamed inside his dad. “ _That’s my boy! Following his father’s footsteps and become a brave soldier!”_ He remembered him saying.

The memories flooded John, because this was the gun his father let him use for their practices, which John became very good at. But then his father never got to see his son hold it professionally. Holding it is like grasping his father's gun-worn hands as well. John just sighed, and was startled by a call from the dining room. Not wanting to make a fuss, John immediately took hold of the box and tucked it on his waistband and rushed downwards.

  * \--



The days passed, and John wished they could bump each other at Bart’s, and he would manage to wave at Sherlock and maybe if his ex-flatmate would tolerate it, could chat about what he missed at Baker Street or even regarding the case. Anything nonsense, as long as he gets the chance to talk with Sherlock. But that chance never came.

Once he saw Sherlock exiting from one of his classrooms, and he braced himself to run to him, but as soon as he saw Irene Adler tailing him once again, he abruptly stopped himself and turned around.

A certain day came when John along with Mike went to the cafeteria for lunch, where Sherlock along with his now bestfriend Irene Adler went as well. It was only by accident that the former flatmates met their eyes. It was John who first spoke. “Hello, Sherlock.”

But instead, it was the _woman_ who answered John’s greeting. “So, the one who got tired of the other wasn’t Sherlock, right?” The words clearly sent a tone of mockery towards John.

“And hello to you too.” _Bitch._ Oh John wanted to add that word with emphasis. He eyed on Sherlock’s arm where the woman clung onto. He tried to hide the jealousy surging on him. Calmly, he went back talking to Sherlock. “How’s everything on Baker Street?”

“It seemed life has _finally_ returned to normal.” Sherlock just replied flaccidly.

“Come on Sherlock, we have a laboratory to do.” Irene said, enticing him to come to her, which Sherlock obliged.

“I see. “ John looked down bitterly. _What the hell am I hoping for?_

The weeks came and John found some new friends along with Mike Stamford. He got along with them well, even though they are starting to get busy for the upcoming exams and project deadlines. It seemed that his focus shifted more on his schooling and stirred away from Sherlock. However, there are certain times that it is inevitable.

  * \--



As Sherlock took notes for his case and found no single clue that links the victims together, he pressed a hand on the back of his aching neck. His gaze was stolen by a box of tea John gave him at Christmas. He never had anything like that before, so much as he wants to shoo John away, thinking of the tea _he_ made gave Sherlock an unnecessary thought regarding his former _idiotic_ flatmate.

On the telly, the weather forecaster talked about the indications of an oncoming thunderstorm. Now it is the focus of Sherlock’s attention.

_… So brace yourselves, Londoners. Because rain will eventually start in the city._

“Yeah. Sure is.” He mumbled, unknowingly speaking aloud.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very very short... but i thought it had to be separated from other chapters.

A clear Saturday afternoon strolling lead John to the familiar confines of Baker Street. The street was surprisingly calm, with only two strangers passing by on the other side of the road. Unknowingly, he passed by the formerly acquainted door of 221B.

_Why did I end up here?_

He was about to walk away when he spotted something _unusually_ wrong. If he remembers correctly, Mrs. Hudson would be on her way now to visit her niece, which is scheduled at this time around, and Kate, the 221C inhabitant, should be on her house back in Cardiff, safe. If Sherlock was inside, and even when he goes out, the main door must _always_ be closed.

So why is it slightly open now?

Creeping inside, John walked carefully on the floors of his old flat. Opening his former landlady’s flat slowly, he sensed nothing peculiar. Swallowing nothing, he went upstairs, to his old flat. Doing the same gesture as he did on Mrs. Hudson’s door, he scanned the place. It was empty as well. “Sherlock?” he called once, but he was answered back by silence. He stepped in, looking around the once familiar confinement. He was greeted by a rather messy living room, with the furniture in disarray. The once stacked papers were scattered on the floor. There was a cut on the sofa which was not there went John left. Despite of the sight, seeing the wall of the living room converted John’s alertness into fear. The wall was filled with tacked papers, with some photographs John recognized as the victims of the serial killer they had been trying to hunt down. John compared it into a food chain, where webs were entangled, highlighting the connections and similarities of the previous three victims. On the far right side was Kate Hamilton’s picture marked with a cross. But what shook John’s calmness was the photo he saw down Kate’s picture. It had a red circle with the words “CONFIRMED NEXT TARGET”, which he recognized as Sherlock’s handwriting.

Taking a step back, he reached out for his heart. _Stay calm John._ _Mobile. Ring him. No. You don’t have his number. Stay calm, I say._ He took a deep breath. _Mycroft._ He dialed the elder Holmes and confirmed that Sherlock was last seen 2:47 in the afternoon. John looked at his watch. It’s 3:15. Mycroft sent people looking for him, or so he told John. Analyzing the situation carefully, and studying the map laid in front of his eyes, he studied some landmarks which were encircled on the map.

_Fuck. I know where he is._

He quickly descended the stairwell, hailed a cab, and told the driver Harry’s address. Thankful that the traffic abided with him, John told the cab driver to wait. He rushed inside his room and opened his closet, where the ivory box containing a gun was hidden. John grabbed it and looked at it for a second, taking a deep breath. He finally tucked it in the back of his pants and went back inside the cab.

“Bart’s. And fast!” he simply said.

As the cab ran again, few thoughts came inside John’s head.

_It was Kate! It should be Kate! Why is Sherlock now the serial killer’s next target?!_

_I’m coming Sherlock. Just please stay alive._ He whispered a little prayer, because that is the only thing he can do right now.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh goodness please forgive me. i got busy at work... forgive me, friends.  
> Next chapter coming ASAP! :)

A stinging and lingering pain made Sherlock squint his eyes and grunt. But this should be expected, shouldn’t it?

On a typical and boring Saturday afternoon, when everyone else is spending stupidly in a nonsensical manner, he was instead, in his little living room studying and linking connections regarding the university murders that had occurred over the past years. A Cambridge student who had a Nutrition major, an Oxford dentistry freshman, and an orthopedics student, all brutally killed, internal organs displayed like statues in Madame Tussauds. Aside from being all women, it is undoubtedly that the killer’s target had one thing in common. All of them had undergraduate majors related to the medical field. Even the next probable target, Kate Hamilton, also fits the requirements.

What’s more stunning, and caught Sherlock’s attention, which is hard to get, is the art presented by said murderer. Such aesthetic is that, all of the displayed internal organs were somewhat related to the victim’s medical program. Eleanor Holt’s digestive system, Claire Johnson’s jaws, Carla Louise Lively’s skeletal system, each and every one of them were killed and displayed like that. So Sherlock was 97% percent sure that the reason why Kate Hamilton is the next target, is because she is taking a Research course at Bart’s. And who wouldn’t have heard of a Hamilton in the medical field of neuroscience? Basically, the killer will have Kate Hamilton’s brain and present it on a silver platter with labels on it. Hopefully, Sherlock can prevent it in time.

But the 3% which remained as doubt in Sherlock made him question things. Why here? Why at 221 Baker Street? If Mycroft could have such control, why would he let her stay in their building? And who was that person that followed _them?_

Oh right. His _ex-flatmate_ was there when they were almost assaulted by that unknown person. But he didn’t exactly hurt the two of them, so why did he frantically run towards them, knowing that the compromise of revealing his identity will be at highest? No. He was not an assailant. He was someone who followed them because they secretly met Greg Lestrade for access to case files. Sneaking out of 221 B, who could be the only one that has that resource and access in a short period of time?

Mycroft Holmes, probably.

Well, going back to this murderer. This murderer which can seemingly pass through walls that come and leave unrecognized. Surely the assailant had access to the school premises at all times because how could he display them for one? Looking back at the photographs, Sherlock can’t help but admire the precision of the cuts this person made. He was a pre-med student with a major in neurosurgery, for God’s sake. Wait. Is the killer a professional at this kind of work? A doctor, perhaps? No, no. Comparing the bodies of the three victims, there were differences an observant eye wouldn’t see at first glance. The first victim had jagged cuts, which was getting less and less prominent in the second and third victims. This is an indication that whoever this person may be, he had improved his method of skinning. This can only be attained by a medical student as well.

But if he or she was a medical student, how can he have access on the school premises on a late night, and even possibly on dawn? The only ones who had that kind of privilege are school guards and…

Suddenly, a sharp pain bit Sherlock’s nape. A blow by a blunt object, he identified, although the ringing on his ears won’t stop. He tried to get up, and swung a forceful arm on the jaw of the unknown intruder. He then fled to the wall full of photographs. On the side was a photo of him, which may be a result of his untidiness. Blood was dripping from his head now, and the only thing he managed to do is to draw a circle around his photograph, knowing that someone will come and look for him.

Now he is undeniably at Bart’s. This was their school laboratory of course, their anatomy lab, where cats and frogs are dissected, where sharp knives, scalpels, and scissors are located, where a human skeleton mockingly looks at him, and may be the last place he’ll be able to see in his entire life.

For the intruder just smiled at him and said, “Hello, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Getting comfortable, aren’t we?”

“The walker of walls, they call you.” Sherlock said as his blurred vision finally returned slowly to normal.

“Is that so? Funny how the police call names of murderers they can’t catch.” The man said as he adored the display in front of him. He was a man with an estimated height of 5’11 inches, with not such muscular build. He wore an apron to cover his upper body, as how a matador looks when he is about to slaughter an animal. A male redhead was behind of all this madness.

“To that I agree.” Sherlock smirked. Now he realized he was in a dissecting table, with only one headlight lamp on. “But this madness of yours, I don’t think so.”

“Did you like the aesthetics, Mr. Holmes? Of how I present my specimens in such fashion?” The killer caressed Sherlock’s jaw with his hand, which Sherlock rejected and made the other man snort. “And you thought ‘Oh they’re all women, so probably the next would be one too!’ Well guess what Mr-Detective-Wanna-Be, it’s you!”

This is the 3% Sherlock couldn’t be comfortable about. That 3% that would surely fail his thoughts. It was either Kate Hamilton, the Research student, or him, a pre-med neurosurgery student. Why else would Mycroft made Kate reside there? It was her or him.

“And fall in the hands of a _school janitor?_ That would be ridiculous.” Sherlock finally made the first eye contact with him.

“That’s it. That’s it! That is why I hate all of you elites! You pretend that you’re some kind of demigods floating above the surface where in fact you’re just nothing but shit like everyone else!” A punch in the gut made the genius cough blood. The impact his body received, along with the hardness of the dissecting table made the pain spot-on. The killer seemed to recognize Sherlock’s agony, because he kissed Sherlock’s forehead. “Keep calm, my little boy. Because you will be the next. Oh I like that!” Sherlock swore he saw him leap in glee. “My first boy as a victim! I wonder what’s inside that funny little brain of yours. Fact that, you are Holmes' descendant, and the youngest son of _Siger Holmes_ , nonetheless. Tell me, how is it, with all the grandeur and stylishness? And how was it falling from the crowned prince to the drug addict? Was it a roller coaster ride?”

“Enough questions and kill me if you want to!” Sherlock has no idea of how far this man had obtained information about him. Hell, he can be one of Mycroft’s annoying men, if he was not a serial killer.

“Tsk. Deflections, Mr. Holmes. And you know I don’t simply kill my victims. I put art on them.” Suddenly, a sharp scalpel danced in the hands of this unidentified man. Then as if announcing to an audience he shouted, “And today’s topic, class, is the BRAIN!”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning ahead! Some depictions of graphic violence. Probable angst, too.

_Would this cab be much faster than it should be?!_

John has been sitting like _forever_ in the back seat of the cab he is currently riding. Frantically looking at his wristwatch, every ticking he is able to hear among London’s noises is a possibility of Sherlock losing his life. He could not afford to do so.

As rush hour came, the traffic became John’s torturer. The second his vehicle was stuck into the traffic, he hurriedly paid the driver and ran through the streets where his dash led him to the gates with the signage that read “Bart’s and The London School of Medicine and Dentistry”.

_Finally._

Catching his breath and steadying his heart rate, a new surge of panic dwelled in John’s presence. He may have reached Sherlock’s _probable_ location, but with the consolation of finding the serial killer as well. The murderer who took lives of college students who seemed had bright futures in their chosen professions.

And he will not let Sherlock Holmes be one of them.

He was grateful for the childhood plays he did, because it helped him tonight. The school gates were high enough, but not impossible for John to climb. Breaching inside, he scanned every room he pass by, his right hand cupping his gun the entire time, until he reached their department building.

This was the first time John went to Bart’s this time at night. The once noisy lobby area was in a state of deafening silence. He heard many scary stories engulfing Bart’s History: a white lady, a suicidal student, a vengeful professor. He just hopes tonight’s tale wouldn’t be among them.

Reaching the lobby of classrooms, he noticed a weak beam of light from a classroom to the other side of the building. _The laboratories_ he thought. Walking slowly and steadily, he can feel his pulse in every step he took. Grateful for an almost transparent curtain, he saw two people inside their anatomy lab. One was pacing back and forth, as if giving a monologue to people who do not even exist. And the other one was tied on one of the dissecting tables, and to John’s horror, the familiarity sunk in.

Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes bound and tied. Even at this fair distance, John can visibly see dried blood which painted Sherlock’s face. He was half naked above waist, all messed up and injured. It was a sight he wished he never saw. _His friend,_ on the mercy of someone as lunatic as this killer.

His hands were now shaking as he unveiled his 45-caliber gun in his hand. The feeling was once nostalgic, as this was the only memoir his father left him. He had every urge to just shoot and shoot until he catches the murderer’s attention, and just to keep him away from his _flatmate._ But as his father once said, _Feeling a gun is like calming your entire being, son. One shot can make a difference: it’s either to kill or to save._ He drew another breath and then cocked his gun. Looking again through the window, he observed every scene, waiting for that one chance: that chance of saving Sherlock.

  * \--



Sherlock has not seen anyone who is as psychotic as this man before him. And his life is playing in his hands. The killer then seemed to begin his lecture, as if a well-versed professor in his field.

“Super powers only exist in movies, am I right? However, boys and girls, do you know that there is an organ in the human body that also has super powers? The brain is the control center of the body! This lump of muscle is so powerful it controls everything we do! Let’s dig in more inside the brain with the help of my special guest, the ever enigmatic, Mr. Sherlock Holmes! Come on, Mr. Holmes, say something!”

It was then that Sherlock realized that this entire ridiculousness is being _filmed_. Of course, stupid Sherlock, how could he ever possibly improve his cutting skills? By watching and learning from these videos! Adding up his access to various laboratory supplies equates a successful serial killer.

“Well sorry guys, our guest is being a kill joy as hell. But don’tcha worry! We will hear his *low* voice soon, as he screams in agony of what I’m about to do!”

Then the killer made his way above Sherlock’s head, which was unevenly suspended in the table, almost hanging. Sherlock can feel blood boiling inside, and it is when the killer lifted it by grabbing a handful of his curls. “Sorry to say Mr. Holmes. As much as I love his bouncy, curly hair to stay, it should go…”

Piercing a gaze on the killer’s eyes, Sherlock spitted on his face and drew a smirk on his face. A handful of saliva landed on the murderer’s right eye, and apparently made him so angry. So wrathful that the smile on the killer’s face faded as he grabbed a sharp surgical scissors and plunged it on Sherlock’s chest, drawing a line across it. The killer was fuming with anger, his own saliva was drooling from his mouth. Sherlock yelped in pain, a mixture of blood and sweat trickling on the side of his forehead.

Blood gushed out from the then alabaster skin. As the pain registered on Sherlock’s mind, he felt something hot in it and when he looked, it was the mad person licking his open wound which earned him another scream.

“Now let’s start the real operation, shall we?”

  * \--



_NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!_

Every sound Sherlock let out was pain to John. The scene he is getting a front row seat of is yet the worst scenario in his life. His whole body is now trembling, terrified of what will happen next. He tried to cover his mouth to prevent screaming as tears fell from his eyes. His beautiful, charming, bully, annoying flatmate is now here, being played at by a crazy man and all he could do is to watch and shake. He leaned on the wall to steady himself and counted as he closed his eyes.

_Breathe John. Breathe._

Holding the gun, he positioned himself a few inches away from the window. An angle and a perfect timing was all he needed. He cleared his mind and chanted a prayer.

Out of nowhere, he heard someone familiar saying, _Now remember John. To kill or to save, choose._

Stretching out his arms and pointing it to the angle he saw fit, he waited for that one chance.

_My choice is to kill in order for him to be saved._

Then he pulled the trigger and time seemed to stop.

  * \--



“Your flesh tastes good, it’s a waste that it’s your brain I’m targeting now.”

Sherlock is starting to get dizzy again. The exhaustion this event brought had drained every inch of his energy. He wondered where he will go after death. Will there be an angel welcoming him in heaven? Is heaven even true in the first place?

When he was young, he promised himself that in the instance he will die, he would like to see the world first. He wanted to talk to every bee species known to man and observe them in their natural habitat. Who knows, maybe there are still other bees the human race has not discovered right?

_Go on. Kill me. Then I can find my bees and stay._

But hey, was he really sure he really wanted die here? He had many plans for his life! To be the world’s only consulting detective. To dash on London’s alleyways to catch a criminal. To do some crazy experiments back at the flat. To contact the future Greg Lestrade for unsolvable cold cases. To piss off Mycroft and call him a fatty. To defy once his Father’s orders. To see Mrs. Hudson make him biscuits. To annoy _him_. To teach _him_ chemistry and math and history. To rebut _him_ in an argument. To watch _him_ make two cups of tea. To hear _him_ say those three words again and again. To make _him_ run again with him on narrow London routes. To make _him_ come back and stay. To tell _him_ how he truly feels.

_NO! I refuse to die! Not here! NO!_

Grabbing the scalpel, the unknown man licked Sherlock’s forehead full of dried blood. He then licked the sharp tool in his hands. As he positioned himself on top of Sherlock’s head, he grabbed once again a handful of curls and paved the way for the scalpel to touch Sherlock’s forehead when suddenly…

*BANG!*

Despite Sherlock’s consciousness starting to fail him again, he clearly heard gunfire in the vicinity. As he turned his head slowly, he saw a faint silhouette far away. May be he is ascending to heaven, and maybe it was his angel inviting him in. How could he refuse?

Uncontrollably, Sherlock Holmes faded in the world of unconsciousness.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorty! need to sleep early because we will watch doctor strange tom! YAY!!!!!

_Run John. Run!_

John’s feet sprung without second thought. Not a few minutes ago, he witnessed the brutal torture of his former flatmate Sherlock Holmes. Not a few _seconds_ ago, a living man he never once encountered in his life had stopped breathing, and it was John’s doing.

John never imagined that the school’s hallway was quite a long journey or that he just ran and ran until he can’t keep up his breath. Exiting the building, John finally tried to steady his breathing pace and thought of Sherlock’s instructions back then, which may also be to blame of his panic.

 “Because you voluntarily presented yourself as my baggage, let me tell you the basics of a crime scene.” Sherlock snorted as he is busy swiping on his phone.

“Tell me, _detective_ and I will thoroughly listen.” John mocked him in response.

“This is a serious matter, not a laughing stock.” At that, John knew that his flatmate was being critical about it.

“First. If you are present in the actual scene, meaning the body is still there and no police intervention had been made, you are to step away from it and avoid contact. This is to avoid tampering the whole thing.”

John nodded. Finally a question popped in his mind. “If however, there is a victim, say unconscious, should he or she be checked or treated immediately?”

“Unless it’s _me_ , leave it. The best option is to call an ambulance.” Sherlock lightened up the conversation which made John laugh. His flatmate broke his own rule of seriousness.

But that’s what exactly happened _here._ And that joke became a fact. The first idea that came into his mind is to check on Sherlock, to confirm that he is alive. To confirm that he was saved. However, bearing in mind Sherlock’s words, the argument between emotions and rationality became a dilemma. Coming into a more concrete conclusion, he left Sherlock there, possibly unconscious, untreated, suffering while he is here, catching his breath.

A loud siren was heard in a near distance. It was the ambulance he called earlier from the school’s public telephone booth. He reminded himself that a call from his phone has a high probability of being tracked. He then found a way out of the building, praying a repeated mantra.

_Oh God, please let him live._

  * \--



The stink of a hospital room awakened a weak Sherlock. He can feel the itch and tightness of his bandage in his head, on his chest, and on his abdomen. Those three sites were also competing on being the best pain he can feel, thoroughly agonizing him. His eyes lingered on the side where he saw sitting on a chair beside his bed is the ever arrogant Mycroft.

“Brother dear.” The elder Holmes acknowledged.

“Are you here to call me an idiot? Pay the hospital bills first.”

“Oh Sherlock, still feisty even bedridden. “

“Has everything been handled?”

“Apparently. They found the killer’s lair, full of your personal information brother mine, which was not surprising as he had the ability to bring you down in this state. Name’s Blake Hutcherson, a 24-year old with only a high school background. He had a dream of becoming a doctor, but he was financially unstable. Funny thing about serial killers is that the idea of murder seems to pop out of the blue. He then started working as a janitor in various universities, learning bits of information and practical applications with no formal training. Such a waste.”

“It’s not a waste if he killed people, you know.”

“Well,” Mycroft rose from his seat. “nonetheless, the problem was solved, thanks to you, playing detective. And I have more pressing matters to attend.”

“How about the one that killed Hutcherson? Any data?”

“Not that I was informed. Anyway the Met will come here anytime this afternoon to brief you. You had visitors wanting to see you as well, the ever popular Sherlock Holmes.”

“Did he…”

“Hmm?”

“Nevermind. Get lost.”

“Rest well, Sherlock.”


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOCTOR STRANGE IS AWESOME EVERYBODY SHOULD CHECK IT OUT!
> 
> Chapter's bit lengthy, but that's to make up for my late updates. Enjoy.
> 
> DOCTOR STRANGE IS AWESOME EVERYBODY SHOULD CHECK IT OUT!

Greg Lestrade has been with Sherlock since he was admitted in Bart’s University Hospital. As a constable-in-training and the one who pursued a research paper regarding this particular incident, he was given access to the crime site. And the sight he found was gruesome. He found his _friend_ lying unconscious on a dissecting table along with a dead murderer on the floor. The once mighty and proud genius was brutally tortured: arms and feet tied, with a blood-dried face, a large wound scrape showing proudly on his right chest, breathing weakly. However, unlike Sherlock, the suspected killer was lying lifeless on the floor, head resting on his own blood which spilled from a bullet wound on the left side of his forehead. A scalpel was found on his right hand, and a bloody surgical scissor was found on a metal plate table. From there, the police can have their hands on everything.

So it was a great sight for Greg that Sherlock’s consciousness came back two days after the horrifying incident. The bandaged Sherlock was more relieving to see than the one he saw last Saturday. The Baker Street boy still cannot move without assistance. However, his visit to Sherlock’s room today is not a friendly one, but rather business-like. He came with one of his superiors for the in-questioning of the victim.

Sherlock answered the basic questions timidly and thriftily. He shot occasional glances to Greg, as if questioning him about something. But the other man never had the chance to ask him.

On the other hand, one _sight_ that never passed by him is John Watson’s figure. Since Sherlock had been here, he has never seen his best friend visit his former flatmate, his acclaimed _first love_. He knew John pretty well, so an explanation from him is in order.

  * \--



Harry Watson has never seen his little brother acting like this. Since he came in late last Saturday, John has never come down from his room. His door was always locked, and if Harry calls him from outside, he will just reply a mumbled or a pretentious “I’m fine.” It made both her and even Clara worried. Her wife even made John’s favorite tea, but it never enticed the younger Watson to the dinner table.

So it was a relief that the doorbell rang on a Friday morning. When Harry opened the door, a young man with almost the same as her greeted her with a smile.

“Hello, Ma’am. I’m Greg Lestrade. John’s mate. Is he in?” The lad said.

“Ah! You’re Greg. Come in, please.” He gestured for him to enter and Greg obliged. “Thank goodness! I don’t know what to do with him. He has locked himself inside his room for _days_ and it makes me worried so much.

“Sorry Ma’am. Well, that explains his _absence_.”

“Absence? From school?”

“That may be another cause Ma’am.” Greg chuckled nervously.

“Then what is it? And please call me Harry.”

“Well, Harry, our _closest_ friend has been tor- I mean was in an accident. I was expecting John to come by these past few days since our mutual friend has also been John’s former _flatmate_ back at Baker Street. I guess he still doesn’t know what happened, or avoiding the situation.”

“Oh goodness!”

“May I come in to his room Harry?”

“Yes, please.”

So Greg followed the older Watson into the staircase and to the first room from it. Greg knocked and tried to turn the doorknob, but failed. Finally, shouted from where he was standing, Harry next to him.

“John Watson, I order you to come outside and talk to me at once!”

A few seconds, a reply came. “Greg?”

“Sherlock has been in a hospital for days and yet you are here sulking! I’m sure there is an explanation behind all of this.”

“I’m not seeing him.”

This made Greg snap something inside him. “Well, that’s just bollocks!” The anger quietly surged on Greg’s veins. “You claim to _love_ him so many times and yet now, at times he needs your moral support, you’ll just dump him?! What about the many things he helped you with?! He needs someone there, John!” His voice finally faded down. “He’s always alone at the hospital. He needs you.”

Silence was the only sound lingering inside the whole house. Greg’s words stunned Harry. _So the person who was involved in the accident is John’s what, his love of his life?!_

“It’s your decision, mate.” Greg ended an almost one-sided conversation. To Harry he said, “I need to go Harry. Thank you for letting me talk to John.” And made his way outside.

Greg’s words still lingered on Harry’s mind. So the reason why John was hesitant in leaving Baker Street is because of Sh—What was his name again? And apparently, she made him live away from him. But John never mentioned this man before as being the one he likes, so it was impossible for her to know.

A rush of footsteps was heard a few minutes running downstairs. John finally emerged from his hobbit-hole.

“John…” Harry rose from her seat. He saw desperation in his sibling’s eyes as he came to her.

“Harry, take me to Bart’s Hospital. Now!”

  * \--



To Sherlock’s annoyance, the once _very_ tight bandage was now _loose_ enough he can’t feel it touch his wounds. The free air which passes on the space between his bandage and the wounds makes him feel slight pains, distracting him from reviewing the case files Greg delivered to him earlier. Add the crowding in his little room filled with irritating police officers who asks him the same questions _over and over again_. _Seriously, how much more maddening this day can be?!_

His observations still lingered on the photo of the dead Blake Hutcherson and his fatal wound that led to his inevitable death. The enigmatic bullet which came from the room on the other building: the shot that saved his life. It seemed impossible, since the classroom window where the bullet was shot from also was broken, the same as the laboratory window. But with such marksmanship, one can tell that the person responsible had a formal training on gun firing, probably of military class. But the offset of the wound made that clearly wrong. This man, or woman, has handled a gun, but not recently. Received training, but not formally. Maybe he or she was taught by someone with a military knowledge, but the person himself has no formal engagement, probably for self defense only or for critical life-and-death situations. But the precision impressed Sherlock nonetheless.

On the other hand, he still cannot dismiss the figure he saw from afar. He is certain, it was the shooter who saved his life.

“Your gun man…” Sherlock’s voice broke the murmurs of the officers inside his room. “…is not a professional assassin like you previously and stupidly deduced. This person clearly received training, but not a formal one. So maybe someone connected to the military. Try finding someone who had parents on the military. And finally…”

Suddenly his room door opened, revealing a heaving John Watson. Sherlock’s eyes never escaped John’s, as if relieved seeing him.

“Out.” He said in a low voice. The people inside the room started their murmurs once again. “OUT!” Sherlock now said in emphasis, which made them running fast and in not another minute passed that they were left alone inside his room.

“Finally emerging from your ‘hobbit-hole’? The past few days were peaceful without you. Looking for trouble again?” Sherlock was looking elsewhere but John, a mocking smirk drawn across his face.

The morning light just shone inside the room, engulfing John into its midst. Sherlock now looked at the shadow formed by his former flatmate. It was just standing there. Then it surprised him when it moved towards him, now his eyes drawn to John’s figure. Much more than that, the smaller man climbed onto his bed, as if he was a limp puppet controlled by instinct. John sat on his lap, straddling him and he just… looked. John just stared at him, and Sherlock can’t help but to stare back. It was then that Sherlock noticed beads of tears dropping one by one from John’s eyes, which are still glued at him.

“Wha-“Sherlock tried to speak but suddenly John punched the left side of his chest softly. The injured man’s eyes trailed the movement of John’s arm. Then John did it again, and again, and again, until he can’t stop sobbing. Finally, Sherlock stopped John’s movements by grabbing his arm gently and looked at John.

  * \--



_“It was you.”_

It was only a few moments ago that John ran the hospital hallway, which is considered an inappropriate behavior. But he knew he had no time to waste. Greg’s words were clear to him: Sherlock needed him. Gone were the days of sulking and locking himself inside his room, as if penance for killing a man he did not know and for leaving Sherlock unattended and barely breathing. He has spent so much time for that. Time for John Watson to move on.

Thanks for Greg Lestrade beating the sense out of him, and a quick drive from Harry, John found himself in Sherlock’s room full of uniformed policemen. But in one word, Sherlock made them all disappear, leaving him and his _friend_ alone.

Seeing Sherlock alive lifted a boulder from John’s shoulders. Hearing him talk sarcastically at him is an added bonus. Like a triggered live wire, John launched himself to Sherlock’s bed, wanting to touch him, to feel his skin, to never let go. He wanted to attest that this was not a dream, that Sherlock is alive, that John was successful in his attempt of saving his life. Funny thing is that, as John stared on Sherlock’s eyes, it was color blue, tainted with longing, or so John had seen. He landed a soft punch on Sherlock’s left chest, knowing that a piercing wound exists on the other. His fist landed on the figure, meaning that everything that’s happening now is real. That Sherlock is real and _alive_.

Then he did it again, again, and again. He never wanted to stop. He just wanted to be there, as if stopping the act will render the whole scene fictional. But then reality hit him as Sherlock grabbed his arm and looked at him with the utmost sincerity, and yes, _longing_.

“It was you.”

As if snapping back, John realized the situation he was in. He was straddling Sherlock, the recovering patient, sitting on his lap. How he got there, John never knew. He immediately wanted to stand up, blushing crimson, but only failed as Sherlock took hold of his arm, now with a bit of strength.

“ _John_ , you saved my life.”

John’s eyes widened on the statement, but Sherlock’s gaze remained firm towards him. He laughed, as if hiding the tears that were still freely falling from his eyes. “What are you talking about? I just arrived…”

Sherlock pointed down on his uninjured side of his chest. “You knew about my injury. And your hands are shaking. Calm down.”

John looked away. He cannot hide anything from Sherlock, can he? He managed to look away.

“Thank you, _John._ ”

Without a warning, John engulfed Sherlock in an embrace. He did not care what he looked like, or any malice about it, he just wanted to reassure himself one more time that Sherlock is okay, that Sherlock is still breathing the same air he breathes. And the tears won’t stop from dropping.

“I was so fucking… scared… bastard.” John’s sobs grew and he did not notice that Sherlock was returning his embrace. “Y-you were bloody and injured and I… I didn’t know what to do. And I left you… there, unconscious. I won’t forgive… myself if something happened….”

“I’m fine now.”

John broke the hug. “And your injuries?” He looked around the wounded sites.

“They’ll heal soon enough if the nurses here are competent enough.” Sherlock said, looking away from John. Realizing his current position, John got off from Sherlock but was stopped again, now with Sherlock’s request. “Grab some bandages on the drawer and redress them for me, if you may.”

John smiled softly and obliged. It was the first time that Sherlock was kind to him and he wanted it to last. He then got the materials and started to remove the earlier bandages, and replaced them by the work of his fine hands. Every unwinding of each bandage revealed the severe damage Sherlock’s body had to endure, and it pained John so much, seeing them up close.

“I apologize for dragging you in that situation. “ Sherlock was now the one engaging the conversation. “Doing something beyond your morals is…”

“It wasn’t about morals and principles Sherlock. You’re my friend, and you were in danger, and the only logical thing to do is to save you from it, even if it means killing somebody.”

“The killer... I didn't know."

“Which is exactly why you don't have to apologize.”

Sherlock took a deep sigh. "Honestly, I didn't think it would be that scary not to know something."

John smiled wryly. "Okay. Apology accepted. Now my only problem is not getting caught.” He chuckled softly.

“I will ensure that no one will ever know. No one. Just _you and me_.”

With expert hands, it was only a few minutes after John finished. He then asked, “Alright?”

“Better.” Sherlock replied. John sat on the chair next to his bed.

“But you know what Sherlock, for all that matters, you are one hell of a detective. I always question in my mind your decision of doing medicine. You can help a lot of people by being a detective though.”

Sherlock chuckled.

“What?” John asked, puzzled.

“Nothing. It’s just like you know me more than I know myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOCTOR STRANGE IS AWESOME EVERYBODY SHOULD CHECK IT OUT!


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello ao3 stans! I am very very very very very very sorry for this late update. recently i was applying for a job, which i got, but i had a lot of time to adjust to it. i'm still on that process, but i had time to spare, so here's an update! just minor johnlock fluff :3

It was a full week since John showed up in Sherlock’s hospital room. Since that day, his presence annoyed the recovering Sherlock, who now only has superficial wounds left to heal. John was not an idiot not to recognize that the nurses that tended to Sherlock turned from understanding to being pissed off every single time one of them walks in. One time, when John came from school and visited his friend, he heard from the outside Sherlock saying, “I don’t need your incompetence here. _John_ knows a lot more than the lot of you. Seriously, how did you become nurses?!” It should come out as a rude comment to the nurses, but it had a reverse effect on John’s side. Sherlock said he’s better than any of them.

On his last day of confinement, John decided to bring Sherlock his missed class notes. John was not as intelligent as his former flatmate, but he is diligent and enthusiastic enough to write down some notes to study. His inner self told him Sherlock won’t need his scribbles, but just in case, he brought them.

Much to his surprise, Sherlock did not need them, but due to some other reason.

“What the hell are you talking about?” John said, grabbing the nearby stool and sitting on it.

“I’m shifting my undergrad. Forensic science.” Sherlock said, biting a large portion of a sandwich in his hand while continuing to read a scientific forensic journal.

“Wait. Is this because I suggested…” John looked quite confused on what he is witnessing.

“No. It does not concern you. I told you, I never liked medicine. It saves lives. What I want is something that is the opposite: observing the remains of the dead. It’s the closest way to become a detective without going into Met training.”

“What about Mycroft?”

The question made Sherlock close the reading material on his right hand and turned to John.

“Not gonna tell him. I advice you not to, as well.”

John was about to protest, but it was the look in Sherlock’s eyes that told him that this is what his flatmate desired, that it was his own decision of what his future would become, which John respected and adored.

“You’ll be a fine detective Sherlock.” John said, smiling.

Sherlock turned back to reading. “Of course, I will be. And not just a detective, a consulting detective.”

  * \--



That same night, when John returned to Harry’s house, he was surprised to see his own luggage on the living room, while Harry and Clara sat on the couch as if waiting for his arrival. The smile on his face wore out.

“Harry, what’s this?” John asked.

“Before anything else, I would like to apologize John.” Harry said, grabbing Clara’s right hand.

“Care to elaborate more?” John chuckled, but nervousness was way too obvious not to hear.

“I… I’m sorry I took you away from your home, from your _flat_.”

“What do you mean?”

“These past few days, I’ve never seen you like this: energetic, happy, _alive_. Since you moved in here, all you did was to keep yourself inside your room, as if there was something hollow inside you. Much more when Sherlock was hospitalized. But then I realized it was because this was never your home John, it’s Baker Street.”

“Harry, I…”

“All I wanted was for us to be back again together John, as a family. But being one does not stop at sharing one roof, am I right? So I’m sending you back to Baker Street. I know John, you love Sherlock, very much. I saw myself in you, the way you look at him is how I look at Clara.” Harry smiled on her wife before continuing. “And I know how hard it is to be separated from the person you love.”

John can’t help himself but to shed tears. “H-Harry. Th-thank you. I don’t know what to say…”

Harry approached his little brother and hugged him. “You’ve said it already, John. You’re welcome.”

  * \--



“What the hell?!” Sherlock almost screamed in shock when he came back to Baker Street. Everything was orderly and neat. His stacked papers were gone, the skull is put atop the fireplace, no dust can be observed from the window pane.

And this. _Oh, this._

“Welcome home Sherlock! Made you some toast.” John said in a heavy smile as he sat on the dining table arranging the plates.

“Since when did you come back here to destroy my ‘once-again’ peaceful living?” Sherlock exclaimed, gritting his teeth.

“Yesterday. And by the way, it was not me who cleaned _our flat_. It was Mrs. H.” The smell of burnt bacon is filling up the whole 221B.

“And how about your burning bacon, Chef Watson?” Sherlock said smirking.

“Oh oh oh shit!” John panicked, as he immediately tended to his now crisp bacon.

As he turned his back, Sherlock smiled to himself. Until his phone vibrated. His face then turned into a glare as he read the message.

_‘He always has his ways to find out, Sherlock. Always.'_

He locked his phone and slid it back inside his pocket.

_Of course he has. But I have mine as well._

He looked over his shoulder to glimpse at the still jumpy John, desperately trying to save the bacon.


	36. Chapter 36

“But Father…”

“In this family, my words are absolute Mycroft! Your brother must know that things are not supposed to always go in his favor.”

“But this is too much to ask of him. He loves another.”

“Then let him prove himself worthy of that love!”

  * \--



Summer break’s finally here, and John is excited to be free from all the stresses his chosen undergrad had to offer. No more papers, deadlines, and exams to be crazy about. It’s time to be free.

Changing into his everyday clothes, his eyes passed by his photo of him and Sherlock together. Wouldn’t it be nice? Sherlock, being the one and only genius consulting detective and running all around London chasing criminals. He would look like a superhero, then. All he needs is a cape. Well, his long, expensive coat can be an alternative. John chuckled. Maybe he could tag along. A medical doctor tailing around a crime-solving prodigy and keep him safe from harms. But how would they earn money? Oh right! Maybe John could make a blog about him for people to know him more. To tell them that he can deduce the identity of a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb. 

But that’s only an “if”. A big “if”.

John knows Sherlock had a lot on his plate right now. He needs to study a lot for his transfer in the forensic science department, which was known in Bart’s as the “isolation ground” of all the degree programs. Every year they only get five new enrollees and by the time of graduation, only two of them will graduate successfully. That’s how difficult it is.

Well, define “difficult” for Sherlock Holmes.

John knows enough not to disturb his studying flatmate. But couldn’t get himself not to worry. Since morning, he never once saw Sherlock emerge from his room. And the fact that he is still recovering from his injuries means he needs a lot of care for him to be back on his feet. So John decided to ask Mrs. Hudson for a dinner meal.

By the time it was done, John went to Sherlock’s room and knocked on the door a few times. He had it in mind that Sherlock hated it when he never knocks before entering. Sometimes he just does it to piss him off, but not now. No one answered his knocks. When he slowly opened the door, he saw that the only thing that illuminated the room was Sherlock’s study lamp. Heavy and thick medical textbooks sprawled on his table. Scientific journals were scattered on the floor. The only thing left untouched was Sherlock’s bed with only few wrinkles. Then there he was. His fluffy curly hair which, at John’s perspective, had not experienced combing for days. His pajamas that were still the ones he had the night before. There he was, soundly sleeping on his desk, a sense of peace engulfing John’s future detective.

John placed the tray of food on his bedside table and grabbed a white sheet to cover the genius’s warm body. Sherlock always denied sleep, but even he cannot fight back once it crept up on him. John had a nice view of Sherlock’s neck. Oh how he wished he had access to kiss it, to tell the man he loves that everything will be alright. That he will be what he dreams to be. And that John is there to witness it all.

John let the image be a fantasy. He slowly closed the door and left.

  * \--



Sherlock’s phone bleeped for the fifth time. Mycroft’s texts had never been more annoying than ever before. A moment passed by and a call alert from his British Government of a brother popped on his screen. Sherlock sighed in his irritation. This is Mycroft’s pattern of buggering him here and now.

“What now?”

“Father received a phone call from the university. He has plans on stopping you from shifting departments.”

“And?”

“What?”

“Father always sets conditions Mycroft. I am not blind not to notice.” The other line chuckled.

“Oh brother dear, of course. You are permitted to do so, if you agree to his terms.”

“Which are?”

  * \--



John woke up from the blaring sound of his phone. It wasn’t his alarm. He made sure he had turned that off since the break started. Much to his surprise, it was a phone call from none other than Greg Lestrade.

“Watson, wakey wakey!” Greg said in a shouting manner, catching John offguard.

“Shut up. It’s still early. What do you want?” John said with a yawn.

“James is home! He texted me!”

This made John sit straight up, as if sobering up from gulping up a huge amount of alcohol.

“What now?”

“Meet-up! Come on! At the arcade, 10 am. See you John!”

“Hey…” But he was answered with beeps on the other line. John sighed. Of course, how could he forget?

  * \--



_Tell me that I still have a chance._

James’s words lingered on John’s thoughts. He feels awful for this meeting once again. He didn’t want to answer James’s plea back then because he was his friend, and friends never hurt each other. At least that’s what John believes.

To settle his thoughts down, he went to the kitchen to boil for tea. To his surprise, Sherlock was already in his claimed chair, but not the usual everyday Sherlock in pajamas and sleeping gown. The Sherlock he saw was ecstatic and handsome. He wore a plain yet fit white undershirt outlining his abdominal muscles overlaid with a plaid brown jacket. He also wore denim jeans, which was rare to John’s sight.

In short, Sherlock Holmes looked fucking sexy.

John can’t help but stare, as the water from the faucet overflowed in his kettle. He came back into his senses when his flatmate told him, “You’re not the only one paying the water bill. Stop wasting it.”

Getting back into his reality, John successfully put the kettle on the stove while nervously searching for something edible on the fridge and fighting back his raging erection that would be evident if he turned around and faced Sherlock. As the kettle called his attention, he finally settled down on the dining table, hiding himself successfully.

“You seem flushed.” Sherlock’s words startled the hell out of John.

“Hot day in London I guess.”

John was happy since his arrogant flatmate did not push the topic until his humiliation’s out of the bag. Finally, after a few moments of awkward silence, John finally broke it.

“Going somewhere?” John said, calmly sipping his tea.

“Mhm.” Was only Sherlock’s answer.

“Can I ask where?”

“Not your business.”

“Okay.”

“You seem like you’re going somewhere too.”

“Yeah. Going out with Greg and… James.”

“Ah. The army cadet is back.”

“Yep.”

“I guess the flat’s having a break on us as well.”

John smiled and involuntarily looked at the genius’s direction, only to be met by a smiling Sherlock. It was a great morning indeed.

If only they can foresee the future, then maybe time stopped there, at that exact moment.


	37. Chapter 37

Patiently leaning on the video machine labeled _Top Gun_ , John’s eyes scanned for Greg in the crowd, murmuring a silent prayer that his good lad will show up first before James. He came to face this battle unprepared, like a soldier without his gun at hand.

But why must God be so cruel at him?

Sure enough, it was James who saw him first, and John could not take his eyes off him. He was leaner than he last saw him. His military cut hair suited his well-endowed physique. He just looked majestic and authoritative. Then he saw John and he smiled.

“Hey, James-“ but John’s words were cut off by a warm tight hug. He can’t help but to reciprocate, though awkwardly. The taller man must’ve felt it, because he quickly pulled off just as fast as he did hugging John.

“Hello John.” The blush in the cadet’s face is unsuppressed. “Has Greg arrived or-“

“No, not yet .” Was John’s quick reply. Then his phone broke the awkward tension blooming between the two men.

_‘Sorry John. Can’t come. Fucking sister need me to help her in her “gift-shopping” spree. Fuck John, sorry mate. Tell James I’ll come another time.”_

Oh God, what does John need to atone for?

“Greg can’t come.” He dismissively announced to the man on his side.

“Oh. It’ll just be the two of us then.”

No response.

“Look John, I know you’ve been waiting for a few minutes. Let’s just sit on the benches, alright?” Good. It was good that James lead the conversation because John has literally no idea of doing so.

As the people around them arrived and went, James asked about what he had missed since he left. John told him eagerly so: about the new tenant they had, about the case, about the serial killer, about Sherlock solving the case, about Sherlock getting hospitalized, about Sherlock shifting departments, about…

Oh.

“I’m sorry James, I didn’t-“

“No. It’s okay. It makes you smile. I don’t mind.”

John felt dismay in James’s sneer.

“Hey mate, wanna play some bit old of _Top Gun_? Come on James!” John just wanted to make James feel alright. Gladly, the army man took his bait.

And there they were. They played not only the shooting game, but the basketball ring, the air hockey rink, the driving simulations, anything that made them both grin and laugh. John felt relieved out of stress, lengthening the time before it comes inevitable.

At lunch, James dragged John in a nearby food court where they ate. They ordered a pizza for two which they gleefully shared.

“John.” James started in a serious tone, making John nervous. “Next month will be the recruiting season for the new batch of army trainees. I remembered you told me before about you fulfilling your dad’s dream of becoming an army man serving Queen and country if I’m not mistaken?”

His words caught John’s attention. “Yes. And you want me to enlist?”

“No John. It’s not a matter of what I want, but what you want in your life. I know your studying medicine, but in your heart, I know there’s a portion in there that wants to hear his clinging dog tags around his neck.”

“I-I’ll think about it.” John said as he playfully swirled the straw of his iced tea.

“John, you could come with me, there. We can serve together. I’ll be the in-charge of the recruitment training. Then we’ll get to know more of each other. Together, John.”

“James, I-“

“You told me I still had a chance. I am now desperately clinging on it.”

A moment of silence fell on their table, as they let the passerby go and the time to tick.

“Before you go home John, can we stop by, at our old apartment?” James eyes were pleading. John just couldn’t help it.

“Of course.”

  * \--



As James and John walked on the mall lobby, talking and laughing at some of their old memories, John bumped into someone who was just walking pass by him.

“Oh geez, I’m sorry.” He said to a young lady. She had a blonde ponytail, a cute cocktail dress, and a hint of faint lipstick. She just smiled back.

“No, it’s okay.” She replied.

“Are you alright?”

It was those three words that caught John’s attention. No, not maybe the words, but the voice instead. Oh, the voice that he always dreamt of but he can’t get to properly speak to him. The low baritone he hears everyday yet cannot direct words unto him.

“I’m okay, _Mr. Holmes_.” The woman assured her tall and handsome companion.

John looked at him as the man possessively protected the woman in his arms.

“I told you Molly, call me Sherlock, please.” He said with a smile.

John stared again in confusion, forgetting all about James and the military, and the blonde woman he just met in such accident.

“It seems you have met my flatmate unintentionally. Hello, _John_.”


	38. Chapter 38

Sitting cross-legged with one hand used as support to his head and the other casually leaned on the other chair next to him, Sherlock was waiting for quite a few minutes now. He was all alone inside a fine-dining restaurant Mycroft had set up for him. _Elegance my arse,_ he scoffed. Not that it was a surprise, as formal and arrange meetings go like this.

Especially if the one you’re meeting with is a girl.

Sherlock sighed as he looked upon his Tissot wrapped around his wrist. It was past five minutes their supposed meeting time. Then someone caught his attention. On a nearby table, a family of four was eating their lunch meal. The youngest, a small boy, unlike all of the family members, is getting his large share of the meal and eating it like a predator hungry for its prey. His mother tried to scold him, but he just refrained for a few seconds and did it again. His face was full of chocolate smudges, but still the boy laughed wholeheartedly. Oh, that sweet smiling face. It definitely reminded him of someone. It must be…

“Mr. Holmes? Mr. Holmes?”

As if sipped back into reality, Sherlock’s attention was caught by an elegant girl in a cocktail dress. She had a cream blonde hair that had been captured altogether by a ponytail. She smiled at him, and he greeted her back with a warm smile as well.

“Have you been here for a while now?” She asked as Sherlock stood from his seat and cordially pulled a chair for her and made her comfortable enough before he went back sitting, now in a more formal demeanor.

“No, it’s fine. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Hooper.” Sherlock said, posing his all too good charming smile.

“I believe we have met before, at the launching of our London branch?”

“Yes I believe so, as what my brother delicately reminded me of. But I think we were still what, six, seven years old?”

“Seven, actually.”

Sherlock chuckled. “You have a fine mind.”

“Other people tell otherwise. And I wouldn’t believe it, especially if it comes from your mouth, Mr….”

“Sherlock please. You are very well-informed of my biography.”

“Call me Molly as well. Better get used to it starting now.” She smiled, as the waiter approached their table and took their orders.

  * \---



_“And?”_

_“What?”_

_“Father always sets conditions Mycroft. I am not blind not to notice.” The other line chuckled._

_“Oh brother dear, of course. You are permitted to do so, if you agree to his terms.”_

_“Which are?”_

_“You are to have a marriage interview with the only daughter of Hooper Pharmaceuticals, one of Father’s closest allies. Her father is having an eye on you since…”_

_“Since the party during their London branch opening.”_

_“I must say brother, your beauty and charm is in demand.”_

_“Oh do not patronize me, Mycroft.”_

_The lines went silent._

_“You don’t have to do this Sherlock. I know-“_

_“Text me the details of the meet-up. Is that all? Goodbye.”_

  * \--



“I did not imagine you were a fan of theatre musicals, Mr. Ho- I mean, Sherlock.” Molly said as he seated herself in one of the VIP boxes near the stage of the theatre they just walked in.

“I am not. I simply chose to take you here to indulge myself in _Hamilton,_ of course.” Sherlock replied as he suited himself on his seat next to his date.

“I am not a hip hop enthusiast, Sherlock.” She chuckled.

“Trust me, Molly, you’ll gonna like it.” Sherlock said in full confidence, as the light started to dim and the music soared.

  * \--



Act one barely finished when Sherlock observed that Molly was enthralled by the show already. Her eyes gleamed and shot wide, not to include the claps she did every after a song ended. Sherlock made the right choice, a point for a right first impression.

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a man who secretly slept his way just to avoid his nagging wife. His drool decorated his chair and his light snores were evident. His wife apparently ignored him at all or else a ruckus might happen next. Sherlock looked at him, and he remembered someone who did exactly just like that. During the tutorial sessions when he just can’t stand the annoying sound but understands why he is on that state because he just worked so hard and…

“Sherlock, is everything all right?” Molly said, landing a touch at the back of Sherlock’s hand.

“I’m good.” He can’t help but to smile.

  * \--



“Lin Manuel-Miranda is so amazing! God, I instantly became a fan. Thank you.” Molly said, playfully striding ahead of Sherlock, who was walking with his hands on the either side of his pants pocket.

“Told you. But I liked Jonathan Groff more.”

“King George? Why are you a _drama queen?_ ”

“Depends on who you’re asking.”

Sherlock can’t help but to giggle as Molly danced and wittingly imitated some songs they just heard. As they joined the crowd of the busy London Street, Sherlock saw Molly in a near distance, bumping off with someone he was quite familiar with: the height, the stride, the hair, the persona.

“Oh geez, I’m sorry.” He heard him saying as he approached the young lady. Sherlock might’ve have had his eyes on the man, but not until another familiar face invaded his view. The height, the build, the physique, the authoritative aura. He braced and calmed himself.

 “No, it’s okay.” She replied.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked as he grabbed Molly’s arm, assisting her immediately.

“I’m okay, _Mr. Holmes_.” Molly assured him.

Suddenly, he can feel the piercing gaze of the man, and it took a lot of composure to stay still.

 “I told you Molly, call me Sherlock, please.” He said with a smile.

Sherlock finally looked toward their direction, as if the first time catching them in a long while.

“It seems you have met my flatmate unintentionally. Hello,  _John_.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S MY BIRTHDAY AND I WANT TO GIVE YOU GUYS A PRESENT!!
> 
> HERE'S AN UPDATE!!!!
> 
> sorry guys, RL sucks and my updates are scarce. But as soon as I find time, I write 'em, so no need to worry.

“Good evening, Holmes.”

John was pulled back from his seemingly eternal stare at the figure of his genius flatmate after hearing James’s words and extending his hand. For a moment, Sherlock made sure that his “date” was alright before looking down at the offered hand, as if judging it first before returning the gesture.

“Mr. Sholto. If this isn’t a coincidence, then I don’t know what this is.” He said, clinging an arm around the lady’s shoulder. John couldn’t help but to trail his eyes on Sherlock’s movement.

“I believe so.” James said, passing a glare on John’s figure.

“Sorry if I’m being rude. This _lovely_ lady here is Ms. Molly Hooper.” Towards the lady he said,” Molly, this is Army Cadet James Sholto and my flatmate, John Watson, future medical doctor.”

A smile curved on Molly’s face. “Hello everyone. You have such wonderful friends Sherlock!”

Sherlock chuckled. “Oh no, not friends. Colleagues, if you may.”

At that, John looked down on the cemented floor. As if the whole world crumbled and the ground wanted to swallow him into its darkest pit. John took a pinch of James’s clothing and finally said, “Nice to meet you. Let’s go James.” And without looking back, the two of them started to walk away from them. However, as John passed Molly by, a tear escaped from his eye: a moment crystal clear to Molly and unrecognizable for Sherlock.

  * \--



John’s cheeks felt warm as James placed the warm cup of coffee in it, startling him, yet found it funny. They stood on a lamp post outside their old apartment, observing the fat woman on the ground floor busy on her kitchen.

“Oh goodness, that horrifying lady!” James exclaimed with a grin in his face. John was smiling, but still the memory of Sherlock and his date linger around his brain.

“I thought you liked her.” John said wryly.

“That’s a lie John. You, perhaps. But her? A big no.”

“Me what?”

“Huh?”

“You said ‘You, perhaps.’”

“Oh that. I like you John, more than a friend. How many times would I have to repeat myself?”

John fell silent. He doesn’t know what to say and just stares at the smoke visible from his cup of coffee. Unknown to him, James was studying him for a moment.

“Hey, John.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll never make you have that face.”

“What?”

James looks down on his coffee and it was now John’s moment to study him. “I’ll always make you smile. So… please, will you come with me, back at the military base camp, together?”

John again was rendered speechless. And this time, he might consider the answer James is longing for.

  * \--



John stumbled back in a very late hour in Baker Street. He assumed that Sherlock is now locked in his bed, as what he does everyday, or still out with his date doing things John could not possibly imagine.

So he was very surprised to see a familiar government-issued Rolls Royce a block away from the building. As he climbed upstairs, he can hear the faint yet familiar voices emerging from his rented room.

“You know it’s not your obligation to this Sherlock.” A voice said and John was so sure it was Mycroft’s.

“I did it on my free will Mycroft.” Sherlock protested.

“But it was foolish of you to contact her and stray on the proposed date of the _marriage_ interview! You defied me, Sherlock!”

“Yes. I defied you, and still followed Father’s orders, like a good trained dog.” Retorted the younger Holmes.

“I am not Father, brother mine. I know what you’re heart says. You do not have to be our father’s lapdog anymore!”

 “Then pray tell me Mycroft,” Sherlock’s voice now raised with a firmer tone. “which side are you really on? You keep telling me that Father will be furious if I disobeyed him, yet now you keep pushing me of doing so. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I… I…”

“You’re mistaken.”

“Sherlock?”

“I like her.”

“What?”

“I’m not doing this because of Father or my transfer on forensic science. I like her. Is that a legitimate reason?”

John gasped at the revelation before him. And before he knew it, Mycroft opened the door for him to leave and saw John standing and leaning at the railing. Meeting Mycroft’s eyes, John saw disappointment, as if feeling sorry for him for hearing the words. As the older Holmes descended, he met Sherlock’s eyes which were looking at him from inside the flat. As he paced inside, John never left Sherlock heterochromic eyes with an inexplicable message for him.

“You’re late.” Sherlock said, now avoiding eye contact. “I was thinking you were not coming home.”

“Why is that so?”

“Because you seemed to have a nice time, the two of you.”

John can’t help but to get irritated at him stating the obvious. He wants to yell back and say, ’what about you then? Getting all handsy with Miss-Rich-and-all-kind-and-gorgeous? You seemed to have a lot more fun than I did!’ But instead, he said:

“It’s true. And James is a man of patience and kindness, and he doesn’t _hurt_ feelings like a certain someone.”

Sherlock paced towards his room and opened the door. “That’s good then.” Then shutting it behind him.

John’s hands turned into fists, as he held himself, alone on a small living room which he felt was so big it could swallow him alive.

Then quietly he said, “For a genius, you are such an idiot, Sherlock Holmes.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! This was supposed to be uploaded yesterday but our connection fucked up, so here it is!

Weeks.

 It has been weeks since the silence on the shores of Baker Street started. The silence which also meant tension between John and Sherlock, or at least it was in John’s perspective. Two weeks since John heard about Sherlock’s marriage interview, and a week since the new semester started.

Unlike the previous semester, the boys had separate schedules. John also learned that Sherlock had processed his transfer papers to the forensic science department due to the neglected ID that was left on the living room center table. They still have similar majors but mostly of special sciences specific to their courses, so they don’t meet at all in school.

The same scenario occurred back at the flat. While John kept his morning schedules, Sherlock on the other hand leaves later than him, around 15 minutes before 10 am. At the same time, when Sherlock returns home, which is also around 9 pm, John is already locked up in his room fast asleep and getting ready for his early classes.

But there were still times that they do meet up at the flat, and they were like strangers. Long gone were the sofa and tea sessions they shared, forgotten and buried inside John’s memory and he assumed that Sherlock deleted them as well.

John surprised himself. Since that awkward night, avoiding Sherlock was the only solution he saw for him to move on. Maybe it was good for the both of them to continue doing so, because slowly John figured out how to forget; how to treat Sherlock like a stranger for him to hide the hurt he’s feeling inside. And most of the nights that he is locked up in his room, reading medical journals or just before sleeping, he always considered the option of going to the army, of going with James, away from Baker Street, away from London, away from Sherlock.

And the answer is always maybe. Maybe if he left he will forget about the hurt that swallows him inside. Maybe he can remember what was in James that he saw before any of this happened. Maybe finally he can get out of the chains he hauled himself in: chains that he willingly gave the keys into Sherlock’s hand in a silver platter.

Maybe tomorrow, he can give James an answer.

  * \--



For years, Greg Lestrade has known John Watson’s train of thought, and how madly in love he is with Sherlock Holmes. So it was a surprise for him that John called him in the middle of the night while he was getting ready for his goodnight sleep at his Met Academy bunk.

“What?” he whispered to avoid any other people getting disturbed.

“Sorry, is it not a good time?” John answered on the other line.

Greg sensed a hint of uneasiness in John’s tone, enough for him to not dismiss this discussion in the first place. “It’s okay mate.”

”Well the thing is, Sherlock got himself a marriage interview.”

“What?!” Greg almost shouted but calmed himself. “But last time…”

“Yeah I know. But in order for his transfer to take effect, his father gave him the condition of the marriage interview.”

“It’s not his fault then, John. Maybe if you talked to him…”

“He likes the _girl_ , Greg. I hear the exact words from his mouth.”

“That’s fucked up, John. How are you?” Greg sat up on the edge of his bed, sensing the seriousness of this conversation.

“Remember when we were invited by James and you didn’t show up?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, he asked me to come with him, back at the military base camp. Said that there’s an upcoming recruitment for new cadets and hoping for me to join.”

“And your Bart’s med school?”

“He says I can have enough medical training there at the camp. And he wants to… you know… get back _those_ times.”

“And Sherlock?”

“I don’t know anymore Greg. Maybe I’m a sadist?” Greg heard a huff of laughter from John. “For him to keep me getting hurt like this, maybe finally it’s time to move on.”

“John, are sure with your decision? I mean, it’s not like you can quit after a month of signing up. It’s a huge deal, you know.”

“Yes I know. But keeping myself here, seeing him everyday but feeling alone… it’s… it’s torture. And I just don’t think I can take it anymore.”

Greg did not answer back and just listened to the tears shed by the man on the other line. Maybe he was right to move on with Sherlock. But he also knows John well enough that everything he said tonight is the exact opposite of what his heart really says.

  * \--



Sherlock woke up inside the flat alone once more, and went on with his daily routine that was now quite different than what he used to do. Mornings when he is not being pestered by a blonde midget, either by bumping him on the way or his usual humming, or his long bathroom shower sessions. Well, he really doesn’t mind though, because since that night when Mycroft came to confront him about his unannounced meeting with Molly Hooper, _he_ just purposely avoids him. As if Sherlock was a moving statue, he was ignored by his flatmate; an unusual thing for John to do. He can see it clearly though, and he can deduce, that John was outside their front door hearing every word exchanged by him and his older brother. Now he is alone inside the flat, where aside from the noise the city emits, is Mrs. Hudson’s morning crap telly.

Getting ready to leave, Sherlock was about to pace through the front door when he heard a knock. _Who could be at this hour?_ He muttered mentally. With enough decency, he opened the door for one Greg Lestrade.

“Sherlock?”

“Lestrade.”

“Oh shit.”

Sherlock shot him a questioning look.

“I thought it was John that leaves at 10 in the morning. It was the other way around.”

“Well, he is not here anymore so if you could…”

“If I go to Bart’s, I wouldn’t have enough time to return to the Met. Well, I would still be late though, like you.”

“Sorry?” He raised an eyebrow at the smaller man.

“Didn’t John tell you? He has plans to move out at the end of the week. He’s going to the military base camp for training as an army doctor.”

Sherlock just stared at him.

“Oh fuck. He didn’t tell you. I… I thought…”

Sherlock just stood there, an indescribable anger surging inside him as he gripped the handle of his own leather bag.

“I’m late as well.” His tone firmer than the previous one. “Lock the door when you leave.” He stepped out, shoving Greg aside.

“Can I least have a ride?”

“Walk Lestrade! You have two _fucking_ legs!”

The words were not meant to be a shout but it seemed so. As Sherlock walked past by his driver waiting outside the car, he didn’t wait for him to close it. He did the honors, as he slammed the car door behind him. The rational logic inside him questions the unknown surge of emotions, and he fears himself for the possible outcomes of this _sentiment._


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO EVERYONE I AM BACK!!!
> 
> Following the recent Sherlock S4 and my real-life escapades, my fic writing was halted but guess who's back? Me, and another chapter I was so longing to write!
> 
> Hope you like it!

John’s phone lights up on a Friday evening, and realized he received a message from James.

_Meet me at the same spot near our old apartment, 9 PM. I’ve got a surprise for you._

John couldn’t help but to be curious, which was followed by a feeling of anxiety. James is to go back within the following week, and he still considers his answer for the proposal. A lot of things should be thought about: about Bart’s, leaving Harry, leaving London, leaving…

No! Surely there would be a lot of time for that. In the meantime, he just wants to rest from all of these feelings. He is quite sure his heart is tired from all of these mess. He knows for himself he just have to take a break.

 _He’s sure not staying a lot here, though_ , John thought. Suddenly fear spiked his gut, as he remembered the past encounters he had with Sherlock: the one where he just came home delirious and not wanting him to leave his side. This is one of the primary reasons of his dilemma of leaving. Maybe he would not have Sherlock as his lover, but he always knew the genius always needs someone to take care of him. And if he leaves, then who would do such task?

He never received a call from Mycroft though, so maybe everything’s all right. There are more things to think about yet, and rest is what all John needed.

  * \--



The keys in James’ hand were clinging as he proudly showed them to John.

“What are you doing, Officer Sholto?” John asked in a nervous giggle.

“Breaking the law for enjoyment, Doctor Watson.” He then grabbed John’s hand as they passed through their old apartment building’s front door and went through the staircase leading to James’ old room.

“This is ridiculous James!” John whispered along with a suppressed giggle.

“We only live once John.” James replied as the click to the doorknob was heard.

Entering the room, John observed that there was no one who occupied the room since James left. The arrangement of everything were still the same. And the memories, well, are starting to flood back.

James called him on the sofa of the living room where they used to eat fish and chips. The telly though was not there, for it was moved out along with James. John followed his companion’s directions and sat beside him.

“Remember when we watched that American TV series of those two brothers… what was that again?”

“It’s Supernatural James. How could you not remember?”

“Because you wouldn’t shut up everytime we watched it!” John now placed his feet a top of the center table. James was resting his head on his right hand, which was leaning on the sofa’s headrest.

Silence filled the room, as thunder yelled in the busy streets of London and the rain started to invade the city. As the rain poured, John was surprised as James took hold of his hand, his face resting only inches away from John that he can feel his breathing.

“Will you give me an answer?” James asked as if John was the only thing he can see in the world.

John was about to give his full answer. Lightning became the only source of light and thunder eventually roared.

_Yes. I’ll go with you._

But as he stared in James’ eyes, he cannot shove away the thought of Sherlock; that he cannot help but compare Sherlock’s eyes to James’, that there was something inexplicable in Sherlock’s eyes which he cannot see in James.

“I… Maybe you could give me some more time to think about it?” John replied as he looked away from James, withdrawing his hand from the latter’s grasp. The officer as well pulled back from the close distance.

“Is it because of Sherlock Holmes?” James was met with a hurting silence. “What is so good with that cold-hearted bastard?!” He started to rise from where he sat, along with his commanding voice.

“It’s not like…” John still hadn’t met his eyes, which hurt James a lot more.

The heavy rains continued to pour, the lightning was uncontrollable, and it seemed the thunder was angry to the city. And James felt similarly and all at once, he just can’t take it anymore. He kicked the center table forcefully, decanting all of the anger he feels inside. John jerked at the surprising movements, standing up from where he was seated and backing a few steps from him.

“Is this all revenge John?” he said, gritting his teeth. “Revenge from what I did to you? From not realizing sooner that you had feelings for me?!”

“That’s not it, James. It’s…”

“John, I regret all of it. Now, you’re the only person in my eyes. Can’t you see? This is what you wanted before right? Me, confessing my love for you? Now, I’m doing it! And yet you’re not liking it, because of who? For that self-righteous addict and prideful bastard that keeps hurting you?!”

“James… stop it…”

“I’ll make you forget about him John!”

James then launched himself to John, apparently stumbling a small vase on the side. James forcefully kissed John on his neck and the smaller man kept on calling his name, telling him to stop. With an unguarded stance and a chance, John successfully kicked James’ abdomen, well thanks to his defense classes with his late father, then opened a distance between him and James.

James was rolling on his side, feeling an intense pain in his stomach. When he tried to stand up, John was on the other side of the sofa now, hair disheveled, clothes unkempt, and saw a horrific face ready to guard himself upon another attack. So instead of standing he lied back again on the cold floor, hiding his now tearing eyes.

“So it was Sherlock after all.” He said as if defeated from a long-fought battle.

“F-forgive me, James. I must go.”

John ran towards the door and exited the room, leaving James stranded on the floor as tears streamed down his face. And it was as if the rain sympathized with him, because it cried harder along with him.

  * \--



_I am such a horrible person._

As Londoners flocked the streets with their umbrellas and trench coats, John Watson was walking the streets with a messy hair and disheveled clothes. The events that took place earlier were too much to handle, and John never cared much about anything at all. His mind was totally blank.

There were a lot of things he was thinking about. As he boarded the Tube all wet, he didn’t care about the other people staring at him. Nothing bothers him at most, but his cruelty to himself.

_I led James on, but all I was thinking about was Sherlock._

As he arrived at the station, he felt like floating, as weight ceased to reach his limbs.

_I worried about it all, and then decided to give up, and yet…_

He ran his fingers on his hair, not knowing what else to do.

_I guess I could not have things in my way. What did I do to deserve this all?_

But  a familiar stance made him stop from his tracks. As he looked up, a car light beamed up on the person’s face. Carrying an umbrella and standing with crossed arms, he was wearing a dark blue trench coat and a blue scarf, a sight John was secretly longing for.

“Sherlock?”

Standing in the rain, the distance between him and his genius flatmate was the space he was extremely frightened to cross. And yet the two of them are here. And a lot of questions were running behind John’s mind as Sherlock continues to stare at him on what John felt like an eternity.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote another one!
> 
> It's about damn time to do end this angst!

“Sherlock?”

“Hey.”

“What are you doing here? Why are you standing in the middle of the rain?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Waiting? For me?”

  * \--



John was still soaking wet as he trailed beside Sherlock, who was carrying the umbrella shielding them both from the cloud’s tears. As they passed on the quiet pathwalks of Baker Street, silence once again drew the distance separating the both of them.

_Sherlock seems so… different._

“Were you meeting up with Officer Sholto?”

The stillness in John’s mind suddenly faded away, as if the raindrops washed them off as Sherlock’s voice echoed like a roaring thunder, not screaming but firm. John just nodded in response.

“I heard he wants you to go with him to the military base camp.” Sherlock never once looked at John even for a brief moment.

“He did.” John replied, although nervousness clouded his statement. “I’m… not totally unwanted, you know…”

“So how did you answer?” He was immediately cut off by his taller companion.

“I-It’s none of your fucking business now, is it?” John stutteringly replied.

“I guess not.” The tense in Sherlock’s voice finally waivered. But John can’t help but sense something else from it. _Disappointment_ , perhaps?

Silence engulfed them once again.

Finally, John broke it. “I’m considering it, okay? It’s a lot less of your problems, dealing with an annoying existence such as mine.” he said sarcastically. “Otherwise, I’d get in the way with your… future plans.” John looked down on his feet as he felt the small wet splashes of the wet pavement on his heels. “I’m going with James to be an army doctor, then everything will go well, right?” he said with a disappointing smile. “You’ll get married with her, and maybe after my service, who knows, I might marry James as well, then we’ll serve the country toge-.”

“Do you love him?”

John finally stopped off his tracks, feeling the rain once again touch his skin. Sherlock continued to walk a few paces.

“Of course I do! I loved him first before you! What makes you think you’re so special?!” The smaller man’s hands are now curling into fists.

Finally Sherlock stopped walking and without turning back, he said, “Is that what it is? Just because he came first means he is the person you’re truly in love with? Do you fall in love with people who tell you that they love you?”

“Why do you fucking care?!” John now screamed, not containing the feelings he is keeping inside for a long time. “I’m not a machine like you! I’m tired of loving and caring someone who doesn’t even see that! This bloody one-sided love! I am a human being Sherlock. And it’s too much… just too much. Fucking leave me alone!”

“You love me!” Sherlock retorted, throwing away the umbrella in his anger. Raindrops now trickled down his gorgeous face, and John’s heart wanted to burst just seeing this sight of him, a sight he might not longer see. “You won’t be able to love anyone else!”

John smiled bitterly. “You are just one self-righteous bastard. Why are you so confident, hmm?” Tears are now mixing with the fallen raindrops as they travelled from John’s eyes. And with the next few heartbeats, John cannot handle anything anymore. “Is that a deduction? Because you’re right! It’s exactly as you say!”

Sherlock walked towards John without the latter realizing it.

“But… but what choice do I have?”, he said as he covered his watering eyes with his right hand. “You don’t feel the same way. You don’t… care about me….”

As the rain continued to fall above them, John finally uttered the most hurtful words he could muster up.

“You don’t love me, Sherlock.”

The coldness in John’s cheek was suddenly replaced by the warmth of Sherlock’s hands, as he took his face and then met his lips.

Sherlock Holmes kissed John Watson.

For a few moments, the coldness of the surroundings, the noises of the rain, all faded as the only thing that John could hear is their synchronized heartbeats. If he has heard anything else, then he might as well be crazy.

Still dazed, John cannot help but seek support from the warmth of Sherlock’s palm, as the genius pulled away from him, and as if understanding what John needed at the exact moment.

“It’s because you…” John managed to utter.

Sherlock wrapped his long limbs around John, embracing him tightly. “Don’t you ever tell me again that you love any other person. It… terrifies me.”

John couldn’t help but to burst into tears, as Sherlock held him close to his chest, afraid of letting him go even for just a second. Sherlock finally rested his chin atop John’s soaking wet head.

“Th-this is the second time…” John whispered once again.

“What is?” as Sherlock caressed his smaller back.

“That you kissed me.”

“It’s the third.”

“But…”

Sherlock released him for a moment but only to kiss John’s forehead. “You don’t have to count anymore, _John._ ”

His name uttered by Sherlock’s lips felt divine. It was full of passion and truthfulness that John himself knew, was something Sherlock would not readily tell anybody. He savored the moment, still not wanting to let go.

_Is this one of my lucid dreams? Because I don’t want to wake up. I need to be here forever._

“ _John?”_

“Hmm?”

Sherlock finally pulled away from the embrace. Removing his scarf from his neck, he twirled it around John’s. “Let’s go home.”

“Sh-Sherlock?”

Grabbing John’s hands, the two of them walked in the middle of the rain, the umbrella forgotten on the sidewalk, which instead of protecting them from getting wet, now echoes the trickling of the fallen rain.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time for some update! :))

“Good evening Madam. Is this where John Watson lives?” Harry said as she shoved the rain droplets off her shoulders.

“Ah yes please come in!” Mrs. Hudson replied smilingly. “And who is this lovely lady that wants to visit John?”

“My name is Harriet Watson. I’m his…”

“Oh yes! His sister! Come in, come in. John’s not here though.”

“But I just received an email saying he wants to meet with me here. About an hour ago.” Harry said as she put her coat on the hanger.

As Mrs. Hudson ushered her upstairs to 221B, she said, “John was not around here the whole afternoon. Only Sherlock was here.”

“Sherlock? His roommate?”

“Yes.” The door opened and Harry followed her inside.

“Hmm. That’s strange.” Harry said, as she browsed on her phone while Mrs. Hudson boiled the kettle.

  * \--



The rain continued to pour on their entwined hands. John cannot stop staring on it, absent-mindedly following his… _companion? Partner? Boyfriend? Oh… right, Sherlock._

Maybe _his Sherlock_ would be the more appropriate term.

Because in their entire walk, Sherlock never let go of his hand, but also in the mere ten minutes of walking, the words he last heard was _let’s go home_ and John has not the slightest idea on what the hell is going on. So he just trusted Sherlock, and squeezed his hand.

  * \--



As Harry sipped his final share of tea and listening to Mrs. Hudson’s drabbles, footsteps were heard ascending. When the door opened, it revealed a soaking and wet Sherlock Holmes and John Watson holding hands.

“My goodness these kids!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. “I’ll get the towels.” She immediately got up and fished for it.

“John. Why are you and your… er… flatmate is soaking wet?” She said as she also now stood up.

“Harry?” John asked in a puzzled tone. “What the heck are you doing here?”

“You emailed me. I came by as soon as I left work. You said you had something to ‘announce’.”

“I didn’t…” But as soon as his eyes wandered on the living room coffee table where his laptop was left turned on, he already had an idea who might’ve done it.

“I was the one who sent it.” Sherlock immediately butted in, avoiding John’s incoming probe. “I believe we haven’t formally met yet. I am Sherlock Holmes, and…” he raised his entwined hand with John’s “…I am asking for your permission to be his boyfriend.”

Mrs. Hudson’s towels on her hands dropped on the floor. Harry’s eyes widened and John just stared at Sherlock as he uttered those blunt words.

“W-Why are you asking my permission?” Harry said, a bright flush now starts to rise on her face. “My brother is a grown man and can make decisions on his own.”

“Because I want to marry him.”

It seemed that gravity had no effect on the scene. John felt his consciousness wavering upon hearing those words.

“Obviously not right away, but probably after we graduate. I do not have any plans of ruining John’s life as a medical doctor. That is his dream, and thus I will not interfere. My family is of wealth, I can assure you that. And once I become a consulting detective myself, I want John to be by my side, witnessing how I solve crimes and hear his praise. Perhaps he might be _my doctor_ , examining corpses and such. Do you like that, John?”

“Mhmm…” was only John could muster up.

“But Mr. Hol-“

“Sherlock, please.”

“This grown up man who happens to be my brother…” She is now pointing at John, which still can’t stop staring up at the taller man. “He can’t do anything right!”

“I know.”

“He’s also not very smart.”

“I know.”

“And he can’t cook either.”

“I know.”

“And he keeps on making mistakes because he is careless and easily jumps to conclusions.”

“I know.”

Harry walked a few steps towards John, fighting her tears as he rested her palm on John’s head.

“But he’s lively, strong-willed, single-minded, and brave.”

Sherlock smiled at Harry. “I know.”

She was still fighting back her tears. “I don’t have to give the typical ‘don’t-hurt-my-sibling-or-you’ll-die-on-my-bare-hands’ speech, right?”

“I know that it is now implied.”

“Then please take care of my baby brother, Sherlock.”

“Thank you Madam.”

“Harry, please. And John…” She hugged him so tight. “You deserve to be happy after all those experiences. And I think you’ve found the person you want to be happy with.”

“T-thanks, Harry.”

Suddenly, John felt Mrs. Hudson’s warm hug as she kissed his forehead. “Oh John, I am so happy for you!” To Sherlock he said, “And you, young man! What about your marriage interview?”

“I will have to find some other ways to resolve that. But I can’t imagine being with someone else other than _John_.”

 _M-my head is completely blank._ John thought as he watched Mrs. Hudson hug Sherlock as well. _I can no longer tell if this is a dream or reality._ He tried to focus his vision on the floor to help him steady, but it was no use. He then chose to look up to Sherlock.

_Sherlock wants to be my boyfriend. He said he wants to marry ‘me’, right? Right?_

 But John felt dizziness engulf him as he lay limp on the floor of 221B.

  * \--



“Are you sure you’re alright?” Sherlock asked John as they stood together below the dim kitchen light.

“Y-Yeah I’m good.” John chuckled nervously.

Sherlock began to turn away from John. “Then, good nig-“

In a flash, John grasped the edge of Sherlock’s dressing gown fabric, causing the man to stop on his tracks.

“What is it?” Sherlock now fully turned to face the shorter man.

“I-It’s just… I feel that if you go into your room, you’ll return into being the ‘cold-hearted’ Sherlock Holmes in the morning.” John looked away from him to hide his true shame. But he did not expect Sherlock’s reply.

“Then, do you want to sleep in the same room?”

John jolted awake on his words. “That’s not what I meant!” _Although it would be a very nice suggestion,_ he thought as redness spiked up on his face.

Silence engulfed the both of them. The tea Mrs. Hudson prepared for them was lingering cold on the table.

“Hey. Are you sure about choosing… me?” John asked, trying to be straightforward as much as possible.

“I am a man of logic and reasoning. But there’s something inside me that does not want to… let you go.”

“I love you Sherlock!”

“I know that fully well.” Sherlock said in the gentlest manner since John met him.

“But… I did not expect that you have returned the feelings too.”

Sherlock giggled. It was the first John heard him giggle. _And he did so because of me._

“I just gave in to you.”

Sherlock then hugged John tightly for the last time tonight. “I love you, _John_.”

Finally, John clutched on Sherlock’s dressing gown as he hugged him back. He just doesn’t want the moment to end yet.

_But it would never end. This just might be the start of everything._


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let the Filler Fluff BEGIN!!!!

BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP!

John woke up in his everyday annoying alarm, pushing him to get ready for school. He hated this part of the mornings, especially because after conquering the first annoyance of the morning, he have to pass through the second one which is…

The thought made John bolt wide awake. As he stared down his two bare feet, he tried to question his sanity. Remembering the events of the past evening was vexing and surreal. And terrified would not be enough to describe what he is feeling right now.

After dressing himself up, which took a lot of time than usual due to the thoughts running along his mind, he hesitantly opened the door of his bedroom, only to find that his flatmate was not there.

_This is not a good sign._

As he descended downstairs towards Mrs. Hudson’s room and into her kitchen, there he finds the well-groomed Sherlock Holmes all prepared for school.

“Oh John, you’re almost late! Come on young man, eat up fast!” the old landlady encouraged.

John just silently nodded. He approached the table, with Sherlock sipping on his morning tea and reads a newspaper, as if John was not there at all.

_Fucking dreams._

“I’m going first. You never still fail to impress me with your carelessness.” Sherlock said to John as he picked his coat and wore it.

John did not have the energy to argue. It was consumed by those hallucinations after all.

  * \--



“I’m  going now, Mrs. H.” John said gloomily.

“But you haven’t touched your food-“

And John did not hear the rest of Mrs. Hudson’s motherly speech. He’s tired of all these bullshit fantasies and daydreams. He just needs to get a grip back to reality now. If only…

As he exited the main door, a familiar black limo was still parked outside, with a few guys who then he realized had familiar faces.

_Sherlock’s guards… but…_

The window of the backseat lowered, revealing a Sherlock with one eyebrow raised. “Oh for God’s sakes John, get in! We’ll be late for classes!”

Absentmindedly, John obeyed and hurriedly climbed to the backseat as one of the scary guards opened the door for him. He sat next to Sherlock, he just realized, and made no sound.

_What the fuck is happening?_

The car rushed and both of the Baker Street boys were silent the whole ride. John kept on trying to scan Sherlock’s face in the corner of his eye, afraid of the unknown if he stared directly at him. Sherlock just rested a hand on his chin as he scanned the passing view.

As they arrived on the school gates, they still had ten minutes to spare. John decided to thank the driver awkwardly and opened the door hesitantly when he heard Sherlock speak.

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“You were in a gloomy mood since I spoke this early morning. I thought you… got the joke.” Sherlock said, sighing. “Won’t happen again.”

As Sherlock was about to open his side of the door, John clung a hand on his coat, eyes studying him.

“Joke?”

“I… uh… Look _John_. I do not have the slightest idea on how these types of _relationships_ work out. I researched it on Google, and one of the websites suggested ‘jokes’ to keep one’s partner _happy_ from time to time. I miscalculated the results of my actions. I did not expect your reaction earlier.”

_Wait… Does this mean…_

“What were you expecting then?”

“That I would see you _smile._ I wanted to see your smile the first thing in the morning. Sorry I…”

John couldn’t help it but to burst into tears while smiling. _So everything that had happened was true. Sherlock is my boyfriend now. He tried to joke. He waited for me so that we could go to school together. He apologized for making me sad._

John couldn’t stop himself. He just kissed Sherlock’s lips right there in an instant.

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to be surprised. Not only by John’s actions but by the expressions of John’s face created.

“You thought it was all a dream?” Sherlock said as John finally released him from the tender kiss. John just nodded. Sherlock then kissed John’s forehead, and it was still as warm as John could remember. “I hate to be parted with you, but we must. Alright? I’ll see you in the afternoon. Text me when you’re going home?”

“Mm’kay.” John said smiling.

“We need to go. See you back at home?”

John nodded as he watched Sherlock paced the school entrance with glamour and nobility.

_That man walking? He’s mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning to have some more Filler Fluffs in the next chapters... So my dear readers, you can suggest what fluff scenes you wanna read... Just comment here and I'll sort it out. :) Ciao!


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